


Stormcaller

by ivorytower



Series: Unityverse Sidestories [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, unityverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4185609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorytower/pseuds/ivorytower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the Late Winter of the 27th year after the opening of the Dark Portal, something dark and sinister calls terrible storms to lash the coast of Kalimdor, its source seemingly Jaina's old home: Kul Tiras. Vowing to do what is right, rather than take an easier path, Jaina returns home to speak to her estranged family and protect her family, her allies, and her own people from the Stormcaller.</p><p>Beta work done by Doomhamster.<br/>--<br/>Takes place between Chapter 11 and 12 of Unity, and will be linked in that story. Please enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Late Winter, Year 27

It was snowing over Theramore, the flakes coming thick and fast, obscuring the view out to the Maelstrom to the east, and the Marsh to the west. Above, purple runes of the wards flared into visibility and then stopped in a repeating pattern, repelling the driving wind and most of the snow. The island itself was only lightly dusted, from the near side of the Dustwallow Bridge to the docks of the harbour.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Tervosh said. “I'm not powerful enough to maintain the wards from that distance. I'm needed here.”  
  
“Damn,” Jaina whispered, looking down at the map between them. It was a large-scale representation of Theramore, and it had been scrawled over so thoroughly that any decent cartographer would have wept to see it. She glanced over the runes and calculations. “I can't afford to wait... I suppose I'll go alone.”  
  
“Why not take Ariana, at least?” Tervosh asked, his expression tight with concern. “Or--”  
  
“Ariana has a young child, it wouldn't be... right, or fair,” Jaina replied. “No, it's my family, I will deal with them as appropriate.” She winced. “You know what I mean. I hope.”  
  
“I do, but Jaina...” Jaina met Tervosh's gaze. “Jonathan is dead. You remember that, don't you?”  
  
“I remember it well,” Jaina said, her expression tight. “I can hardly forget since I was the one who signed his execution order. If you'll excuse me, I need to dress for the weather.”  
  
“That's not what I--” Jaina teleported up to her room, and heard Tervosh's voice as a ghost.  
  
“--meant.”  
  
~ * ~  
  
Rain and wind lashed Boralus Keep. The gale shook the ships as they huddled in the deepest parts of the harbour, while the smaller boats were snug and tight against the piers. Even for the winter, the weather was harsh, and as Jaina looked upon her first home, her chest tightened.  
  
_They need help._  
  
She could have teleported anywhere within the Keep if she'd wanted. She'd practised for a long time in the narrow stone and wood halls, perfecting her teleportation so she'd have just enough time to sleep in and get to breakfast before Finnall and Tandred got there first, before her mother's silent raised eyebrow and her grandmother's rude chuckling.  
  
...before her father, only sometimes at the head of the table, would bang on the table to get their attention. The memory of sea-green eyes and a brown, greying beard still hurt. Another set of eyes, another whispered voice, hurt more.  
  
_That's enough of that,_  Jaina thought firmly, and began to walk. She wore a long rain poncho with a deep hood, and water rolled off of her in waves, adding to the already deep, muddy puddles. She walked through them in knee-high boots pulled over trousers. Her fingers were enclosed in oiled gloves that kept her hands warm and dry. She could have used magic on all of her clothing, she could have worn a swimsuit if she'd really wanted, but no. If she was going home, she was doing it on her terms, as an equal.  
  
As a Proudmoore.  
  
She could see the market, and something tugged at her, old memories, and she diverted to take a walk through it. The stores were closed up tight and rain shook the overhangs. The carts and temporary stalls were long gone, and there was something empty, haunted about a market with no people.  
  
Jaina was careful not to close her eyes as memory overtook her: the smell of fish was everywhere in the market, despite the best efforts of the various vendors to keep down wind. No one wanted the newest silks from Lordaeron to smell like breaded haddock or Tiran cod, after all.  
  
Jaina could remember the sun shining down on the market as people bustled past each other with grins and friendly, companionable cursing as they bumped into one another. She could remember the stalls of books and books and books that arrived from Azeroth's stiff and dusty printers or Dalaran's elegant, illuminated script or even the occasional slim book of rare Gilnean poetry.  
  
She remembered the bright colours, the friendly faces, and the feeling of greasy paper in her hands from that same fish, the way it tasted, the way it smelled, the way her brother had told her she'd better wash her hands otherwise she'd get in trouble for touching anything at the merchant stalls.  
  
She remembered the way her face had screwed up at him, as though he were some kind of newly dredged up idiot. Her stomach clenched at the memory. Her brother had her father's eyes, and his darker skin, while she, the little changeling of the family, was pale-pale-pale...  
  
Memory led her steps out of the market, and along the coastline. There was a little strip of beach out of the way, but on the way to the Keep in a sort of roundabout, hidden way. Jaina remembered it well, because getting from the docks to the family cove quickly was very important when you needed to flee in fear from the person you just injured.  
  
_“Miss Jaina Proudmoore? My name is Antonidas, and I am a friend of your father's. Will you not speak to me, just for a moment?”_  
  
Jaina wiped at her rain and cold-numbed cheek.  _Would that I could, Master. Would that I could._  
  
The little cove was set back from the coastline, and the water was deep enough to swim in and shallow enough to be safe. It had grey, dreary sand instead of the rich red of Durotar or Tanaris' sandy brown. Had the weather not been miserable and terrible, it still wouldn't have been much to look at, not compared to all of the other sights she’d beheld since.  
  
_As a child, you haven't seen the world,_  Jaina thought, bending down in the wet sand to cup her hand over it.  _You've only seen what's in your own backyard. You've only seen what your parents are ready for you to see._  
  
She'd spent her earliest years on this beach. Tandred had been ten years old when she was born, and Finnall older than that. She remembered them watching her as she'd paddled around in the water – cold, but not too cold for her, she'd gotten used to it early – and her father picking her up and hurling her out to sea, while she laughed and swam back.  
  
_“That's it, little Sunfish, you can do it.”_  
  
She remembered his eyes and his smile, and the way he'd been absolutely certain she would swim to him, into his arms and his safety, and not turn around and swim out into the ocean, to seek the waves and the storm.  
  
_You taught me to trust you, but also to trust my own heart, Da,_  Jaina thought, and stood, heading up towards the Keep, through the rough, narrow path up to the side door. A rope hung just under the awning, protected from direct rain, though not the fierce winds. She gripped it and rang it once, then twice more, then once again.  
  
She waited in the rain until the door opened. Tandred had changed very little since she’d last seen him. He had the same weathered, tanned features, though there were new wrinkles around his blue-green eyes and his mouth. He had kept the same dark brown hair, cropped at the sides and a bit longer at the top, perpetually flattened by his hat, though there was grey creeping into his temples despite being not quite forty. Tandred wore a half-unbuttoned shirt that was off-white, tending towards blue, and dark blue trousers with a stripe of black and yellow along the outsides, hinting towards his status even in such a casual state. Instead of boots, he was wearing dark brown leather loafers with socks, a ward against the chill of the storm.  
  
“Jaina...” Tandred whispered, and emotion played over his features. Jaina reached up and pushed her hood back, sending a spray of rainwater back, and she met his gaze evenly.  
  
“Tandred,” she replied as a greeting. “I'm home. May I come in?”  
  
~ * ~  
  
The interior of Boralus Keep had not changed much since Jaina’s childhood. It still had narrow, close-in hallways with wood panelling. It still had only the closest and most secure of wall sconces. It lacked the tapestries and banners of Castle Whitestone in Lordaeron or Stormwind Keep in Azeroth, but possessed portraits instead of the Grand Admirals and their families.  
  
The earliest pictures were of Grand Admiral Rhiannon of the Proud Moor and her children. Briefly, Jaina touched her hand beside the portrait of her namesake, the first leader of the Blackwater Raiders. The portraits were old, and magic preserved them against moisture and cold. Jaina felt it hum under her fingertips, and sent a gentle, renewing nudge into the magical pattern.  
  
There were hundreds of pictures, some large, as the ones of the Grand Admirals were, and some were small, only the size of a hand or a head. A plaque usually indicated when a particular, obscure branch of the family had died out, while others indicated adoptions and marriages. Close to the sitting room was the wall with her own family.  
  
Her grandmother's portrait, Amelia Proudmoore, sitting next to her husband, Thomas Whittaker, who had taken on the Proudmoore name as was custom. She dropped a kiss over the portrait. “Hello, Grandfather.” It was the only way she had known him. That and her grandmother's stories. Her aunts, all four of them, and her father, and around them, their spouses: two had married men, and had a passel of children between them, the third was partnered with a woman and was busily adopting up war orphans, and the fourth, Aunt Miriam, had a lover in every port, or so she'd claimed at their last big dinner.  
  
Jaina smiled a little, because she'd wanted to be just like Aunt Miriam, just like her namesake, just like Rhiannon.  _I wanted to be the Dread Pirate Jaina, and sail the seas rescuing people and liberating booty from other pirates._  
  
Just ahead of her, Tandred stopped, and turned to watch her study the pictures of her family: her father, trying to look stern with a smile tugging at his lips. Her mother, her expression serene to family and cold to outsiders. Finnall, Derek, Tandred, and herself. It was something of a relief to see her own face, younger and happier than what she saw in a mirror, staring back.  
  
“We wouldn't take you off the wall,” Tandred said quietly. “No one gets taken off the wall.”  
  
“There's a first time for everything,” Jaina murmured in return, and then straightened. She set her jaw, and looked over at her brother defiantly. Tandred inclined his head slightly, and continued to walk.  
  
The Proudmoore living quarters were located in the heart of Boralus Keep, not unlike the way crew living quarters were nestled safe in the hull of a great ship. Tandred opened the door, and allowed Jaina to pass through. For a moment, Jaina hesitated.  
  
It was not out of politeness you let an unknown walk before you. It was as a demonstration of mistrust. Jaina's back straightened and she marched into the sitting room, and fought the urge to summon her gun into the palm of her hand. Hers was a small thing that fit her well, having been customized over the years until her growth was over, and she had been drilled tirelessly in its use.  
  
Tandred was similarly, but differently armed. Instead of a small, concealed piece, his gun was obvious, well past the length of his already large hands, carried in a holster inside his jacket. He could, if necessary, draw his nearly as quickly as she could draw hers, and at his waist he wore a sabre, well-worn and reliable. Jaina, for her part, preferred a wand or a staff to a sword, though she could use the latter, if nothing else, to parry a melee weapon while making a point-blank magical attack or firing her gun.  
  
The sitting room was also how she remembered it. This felt more like a family home, cosy and lived in. On the walls were window-sized paintings from different parts of the Tiran islands, each depicting a different township. As a child, Jaina had thought it was like looking out windows into other worlds, that it was something magical.  
  
Having spend many, many years in the most enchanted city on Azeroth, the paintings remained rather enchanting.  
  
The hearthfire crackled merrily, protected by an iron grate, a chair located very close to it. This chair, somewhat worn, was covered in a brightly-patterned quilt, the blanket equally patchy in places. The chair was, to Jaina's regret, empty.  
  
“The damp inflames her arthritis something fierce,” Tandred murmured. “She went to bed early.”  
  
Jaina had never known her grandmother to concede, but in the absence of contradictory evidence, she was forced to accept this as fact, and nodded slightly. “The weather is terrible.”  
  
“It's never particularly nice in the winter,” Tandred allowed. “This Winter has been particularly bad.”  
  
“That's because it's not just the Winter rains that are hitting you,” Jaina replied, and continued to drink in the details. She remembered the couches, the second and third chairs belonging to her parents, the footstool that was just as often as not used for perching rather than feet... the wall-hangings with the family crest on it, one that Jaina used for Theramore, though in different colours.  
  
“We were at something of loose ends trying to figure out what it could be,” Tandred admitted. “Take a seat, I'll fetch Mother, and we can discuss it.”  
  
Jaina nodded, and relaxed slightly as she heard her brother leave. Slowly, she paced around the room over the old carpet, and noticed the walls had been painted again. Everything was how it had been, and yet there were changes, different and subtle, a concession to progress even as it preserved the old order.  
  
_A metaphor, if ever I observed one,_  Jaina thought as she took her old seat, and tucked her feet up in the old way. Safe and secure deep within Boralus Keep, it was hard to hear the howling of the winds, and with her rain cape and boots dripping in the mud room, one might be forgiven for forgetting about the weather outside.  
  
Quite without meaning to, Jaina let her gun slip into her hand. She ran her thumb over the short, compact barrel, and the engravings on the grip. Turning it over, she looked at the butt of her gun, and touched over the etched anchor. It had been a gift and a burden, a reminder and a birthright. As a child, she’d had the importance of the Proudmoore connection to the Steamwheedle Cartel drilled into her as surely and as frequently as respect for the sea.  
  
_I was eight when I went to Kezan to be marked and trained,_  Jaina mused.  _Because my mother thought I was too young at seven, even though my brothers went then. Eight when I put my lessons in Kezani to the test, eight when I met Uncle Revilgaz, eight when I learned how to shoot and care for my little gun… eight when they injected some of their precious Kezanite, fuel granted by Lady Luck herself, just under my skin to make the anchor._  Jaina’s gaze tightened.  _Unmistakeable for what it is and what it represents._  
  
Jaina heard one of the doors open and slipped the gun back into her sleeve: it was a clever trick, one even the best duellists could never manage, because it involved magic, and a specific spot teleportation trigger.  _Kael was so certain I was going to teleport my elbow instead, but…_  Jaina’s expression tightened as she stood and turned to face the new arrival, _he’s been wrong in the past._  
  
Lady Adriana Proudmoore, nee Greymane, swept in like a cold wind, and Jaina shivered despite her resolution to stand fast. She and her mother shared many physical features: her mother was small and slender, and the hair that had been blonde in Jaina’s youth was turning to white, making her seem all the more fine and delicate.  
  
_A diamond might be pretty too, but it’s impossible to break without a great deal of help, and mother’s always been a diamond._  Her mother’s features had aged gracefully, owing to careful artifice and an expression that seemed permanently fixed in a slight frown, giving the impression that she neither laughed nor cried, though Jaina had seen her, on rare occasion, do both.  
  
If her father was warmth and fire and tempest, her mother was ice, slow, graceful, and unyielding. She turned that icy blue stare, so like Jaina’s own, on her daughter now. “Jaina.”  
  
“Mother,” Jaina choked out, feeling old emotion swell in her: frustration and anger, fear and shame. It was all Jaina could do not to yell, to start up an argument that had ended over a year ago. Jaina felt helpless as her mother inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement, and lifted her skirts as she moved through the room like a cold wind, scrabbling for purchase against unprotected skin.  
  
Jaina’s mother had been a Gilnean princess, with protocol, including controlling her emotions at all times, whether it be joy, sadness, or anger, drilled into her from a very young age, while her brother Genn had been allowed to be noisy, to be angry, to express himself in every blustering way he cared to. From what she understood, most Gilnean nobility raised their children similarly, until they may as well have been from two different nations entirely. It took time to see the warmth behind her mother’s eyes, the slight expressions that represented smiles of joy from someone who had been taught only to frown, but searching Adriana’s features, Jaina found nothing of that nature there. Nothing but ice and cold.  
  
Adriana sat in her chair, arranging her navy blue skirts ceremonially with long-fingered, delicate, pale hands before looking up, allowing Jaina to take the seat across from her. Jaina’s posture was upright and stiff as she watched her mother. Tandred walked around the room, choosing to stand off to one side to watch them both.  
  
_Signal received, brother mine,_  Jaina thought sourly, and it was: Tandred was to play peacemaker between them if necessary, to not immediately take his mother’s side and to break up arguments if they became too icy. For all Tandred looked like their father closely, he had their mother’s cooler head and their father’s sense of the romantic, where Jaina had inherited ice and tempest in uneven handfuls.  
  
“I’m here about the storms,” Jaina began. At any other time, during any other visit home, she’d have asked questions about those absent. Only when she was in the deepest of bilgewater did she get straight to the point with her mother, and the admission of guilt and the lack of protocol caused her mother’s thin, carefully shaped eyebrow to rise. “They’re far worse than the ones we -- you -- get after Harbour Day when the ships come in for the Winter, and more than that, they’re unnatural. We’ve been getting hit with storms in Kalimdor, hurricanes, snow. I have intelligence that the storms are coming from here, and that certainly explains why everything is so… empty.”  
  
“Intelligence?” Adriana asked, and Jaina felt the tips of her fingers go cold, but she held her head high.  
  
“Yes, I’ve had it from a shaman, who’s had it from the spirits of air and water that have come here fleeing in fear. I have no reason to distrust that intelligence.” After a moment, because she could not resist the dig, “my source is completely trustworthy and unbiased in such matters.”  
  
“Well, I know little of  _spirits_ ,” Adriana said, her emphasis placed to indicate she didn’t trust any of the sources involved, causing Jaina to stiffen. “However, the constant storms are not the only reason that Boralus seems abandoned.”  
  
Jaina felt numb, and her lips barely moved as she spoke. “Could you elaborate?”  
  
“Certainly,” Adriana began, and smoothed an errant wrinkle from her skirts away. “Two thirds of the Fleet are gone. Battleships, destroyers, merchant ships and troop carriers, lost as surely as if they’d sailed into the Maelstrom and been destroyed.” Jaina flinched. “By that time, Lordaeron, Quel’thalas, and Dalaran had all fallen, severing a number of trade routes. Without that trade, there are few reasons for many of our foreign merchants to stay, so they packed their things and left with none to replace them.”  
  
“What about Uncle Genn?” Jaina pressed, and her mother raised her eyebrow again. Jaina pushed forward. “He can’t still believe isolation is worthwhile.”  
  
“Relations with Gilneas remain as poor as ever,” Adriana noted. “Like Kul Tiras, Gilneas was never touched by the Plague, and he is intent on keeping things that way. None pass through the border or the harbour without permission from the Crown, and he chooses not to grant it to us.”  
  
“We still trade with the Azerothians, of course,” Tandred noted, his voice steady. “And the goblins, but that’s not what we’re used to. Trade’s clean dropped off, and we’re all feeling it.”  
  
Jaina’s heart sank, and took a closer look at the dress her mother was wearing. It was like so many Jaina had seen her wear over the years, half-uniform, half-relic from her time as a Gilnean princess to be clad in as many layers as they could invent, and it had seemed no different at first. It was not the cut of the cloth but the cloth itself: this was no silk or woven linen. It struck Jaina with a pang of pain and guilt that the material would have been more commonly seen adorning windows to keep out sunlight.  _Of course Mother wouldn’t want her seamstress to be out of work, even if it means putting aside silks for drapery._  
  
“But there are other trading partners,” Jaina said abruptly, drawing looks from her mother and brother both. “There are any number of people in Kalimdor ready and willing to trade. Theramore, in fact, is--”  
  
“I don’t believe so,” Adriana said, and Jaina sat back, as surely as if her mother had slapped her. “Ships that sail for Kalimdor don’t return. We will not take that risk, not even for… trade.”  
  
_So you’ll sit here forever until the tide rises, you might as well build a damned_  wall--  
  
“We’re not here to talk about trade,” Tandred reminded them both, shaking Jaina from her frustration. “We’re talking about the storms.”  
  
“Indeed we are, my son, thank you,” Adriana said, and Jaina flinched again, but forced herself to focus. “The foreign merchants weren’t the only ones to leave. We had fishermen take their boats and move further down the coast, or pass through to other ports. With fewer people to engage in their trades, it took time for us to notice that something was truly wrong. At first, it was only as though we were having a somewhat bad year, and with all of the death… that came as little surprise. However, at this stage… the rains have been relentless, and there is no end in sight.”  
  
“We can’t hold outdoor markets at all, and people only travel if they have to,” Tandred added. “Anyone trying to fish can’t do it near the islands at all, they have to head south or north, and going too far north takes you to Gilneas…”  
  
“And going too far south means you might as well keep going,” Jaina finished.  _And you won’t go west for love or money._  “Do you know where the trouble started? The origin point?”  
  
Adriana and Tandred exchanged glances, and saw uncertainty flicker over her mother’s features, though her brother was the one to speak up. “We aren’t exactly sure. We’ve had plenty of stories, the herders and fishers love to talk, but there’s nothing we can anchor ourselves to.”  
  
“Many of those we spoke to are inclined to believe it’s a sign of the very worst, of judgement from the Sea,” Adriana added. “But such is superstitious nonsense.”  
  
Unease prickled along Jaina’s arms. There were other memories dredged up now of the things people had spoken of when they thought she couldn’t hear: of how the daughter who looked like the foreign princess caused strange things to happen, to freeze or disappear when her temper frayed and snapped, that it was a sign Daelin Proudmoore shouldn’t have sought outside Kul Tiras for his Quartermaster and bride, that the Sea was unhappy with them all for his betrayal of his Ocean bride.  
  
“I don’t think anyone really believes we’re cursed, Jaina,” Tandred added as he looked at her, and saw the way her icy fingers clenched into fists. “It’s just talk.”  
  
“Do you have written documentation of their talk?” Jaina asked, forcing her voice not to shake. “A good map?”  
  
“Yes, we should… why?”  
  
“If I can track down exactly who’s seen what, and when, and where, it will lead me to the source of the storms. Once I know where to look, I’ll be able to stop them for good.”  
  
Adriana and Tandred exchanged another look, and Adriana nodded slightly, then rose, smoothing her skirts a final time. “I will retrieve them from our files. Tandred will be able to find you a map.”  
  
“Thank you,” Jaina said, standing up as well. “Could you bring them to the dining room? I’ll need a big table.”  _And neither of you want me in the office, I’d wager._  
  
“Very well,” Adriana said. “We’ll return promptly.” As she had entered, Adriana swept out like an icy wind, and Tandred followed her out.  
  
Jaina cupped her face in her hands and screamed into her palms.


	2. Late Winter, Year 27

“I think I’ve got it,” Jaina murmured to no one in particular. The dining room table was covered in papers, spread out around the map of the isles which Tandred had brought her and which, after being assured that the map was not a precious one, she had written on in a dozen places. Jaina’s fingers cramped briefly and she set her pen down, massaging at her fingers as she looked the map over again.

She’d eliminated Boralus and its surroundings almost immediately. If the storms had started there, her family would have noticed far more swiftly and, moreover, the wards she’d left behind would have been triggered by the initial surge of magic. She’d worked out from there, separating out the testimonials of the fishermen and herdsmen into locations and then by date.

The whole of the primary Tiran island had been eliminated after much laborious work. That had left the second largest island, Crestfall, as their likely target. _But no one has seen anything strange on Crestfall, or if they have they didn’t live through it._

The thought that someone had murdered witnesses was sobering and she frowned. Thrall had told her there was a person behind all this, that the elementals had claimed "she" had called to them, but the thought that this person had actually been murdering witnesses… She saw a mug drift into view and took it automatically, drinking the tea within in gulps. She blinked and peered at it. “Did you spike this?”

“Only a little, it seemed like you needed it,” Tandred remarked. “What have you got?”

“The storms started here,” Jaina said, tapping the map with the first finger of her free hand, and sipped her tea more cautiously. “Crestfall, but the lack of witnesses…”

“Could be the catacombs,” Tandred remarked. “No one goes there because they’re flooded half the time. In fact, they’re probably flooded now.” He peered down at the map and winced. “Did you really need to do this?”

“It’s the best way,” Jaina said firmly. “I needed to eliminate possibilities clearly, and marking them off is the most efficient.”

“Couldn’t you have, you know…” He lifted the fingers of one hand, and swirled them in a gesture of magic. Jaina felt her temper prickle, and scowled at him.

“There’s no point in wasting magic when a pen will do,” she said stiffly. “Especially since I’m going to need to fight whatever’s doing this, one way or another.”

“You’re the mage,” Tandred murmured, lowering his hand to hook a thumb into his belt-loop. Her father had done that, and it only made her skin prickle harder, as though it were frosting over.

“Yes, I am,” Jaina snapped, and took a breath. “So that’s where I’ll be going. I won’t be able to scry the area to confirm it,” she added, before her brother could suggest more magic. “My talents lie elsewhere.”

“I’ll scare up a boat for you, then,” Tandred said. “How many will you need to go with you?”

 _How many people can you put at my back, do you mean?_ Jaina thought sourly. “Did you intend to come with me?”

“No,” Tandred said, and shrugged. “You’ve already made it clear you don’t need me to tell you how to do your job.”

“No,” Jaina replied sharply, hurt. “I don’t need anyone to go with me, I’ll take care of this myself.”

Tandred’s gaze flicked over her expression, his sea-green eyes narrowing with concern. “If that’s how it is…”

“It is,” Jaina said firmly. “Just get me that boat.”

Tandred nodded curtly, and Jaina began to put the papers in order, leaving a clean, neat pile for her mother or one of the servants to retrieve to return to their rightful place.

 _I don’t need him,_ Jaina insisted, even as her heart ached. _I don’t._

She did. She needed her older brother. She needed his kind smile and the twinkle in his eyes. She needed his singing voice, pure and strong and perfect, when hers had only ever been creaky and inexpert. She needed his wisdom as he reasoned things out with her, the calm stone to his sister’s stormy temper. She had barely known Derek, and she and Finnall had loved each other but moved in different circles, but Tandred… she and Tandred had ever been close.

 _Until now,_ Jaina thought, and angrily wiped at her eyes with her palm. _Fine, then. I knew I’d lost them before, if this is how it has to be…_

There were others now. Not Tandred, not Arthas, not Kael, not her parents or sister… but she had Ariana, who had come into her service at eighteen, ruled her life with a gentle but iron fist, and married an orc without fear. Rylai, whose family owned the primary estate on Crestfall Island and took that name as her own, so closely resembling her they’d been mistaken for one another at Dalaran and played pranks on everyone, except Kael who knew the finest intonations of her accent, and Kylian, who had a finely attuned nose for mischief. Tesoran, who saw to Theramore’s day-to-day affairs and reminded her to eat breakfast. Tervosh, who was protecting her precious, beloved city even now and had warned her not to go to Kul Tiras alone. Cynthia, her head cook, who always made her favourite dishes and always knew what to do with fish. She had a head gardener who listened patiently to her requests for specific plants to create reagents, scouts who endured wet and mud to bring her information, and captains and generals who eagerly came at her call.

She had allies: Tyrande, ageless and intelligent, cold the way her mother was in some ways, fiery as her late father in others. Malfurion, kind to those he loved and ferocious to those he distrusted. Cairne, ancient and wise and gentle, the teller of tales. Vol’jin, funny and tricky and clever, who had inspired the shape and scope of the magical academy she’d founded after she’d realized she knew virtually nothing of other kinds of magic.

...and then there was Thrall, waiting back in Kalimdor for her, depending on her, waiting for her to succeed so that he could soothe the spirits that were as much a part of him as her magic was a part of her. _He believes in me and trusts me to do what’s needed._ The thought warmed her, banishing the cold of anger and fear.

Jaina took a deep breath and headed back to the side entrance, not bothering to say goodbye, going to retrieve her rain cape and boots. They had been cleaned and dried since she had left them, and she pulled them on with a certain amount of force. She opened the door and stepped out into the rain, making her way back down to the little hidden cove of her childhood.

 _So what if my family doesn’t care for me any more?_ Jaina asked herself as she walked. _I have friends that love me and care for me, allies to teach me and trust me. I sail forward into the wide, blue ocean and I do not cower behind on shore, uncertain of the-- oh._

Sitting in the small boat, layered in an oiled raincape and using a tarp to keep rain from the boat, was her brother. She approached slowly, peering at him through the rain. Tandred shrugged, and twitched the tarp aside.

“Hurry up, it’s never going to get any less awful if we just stand around staring at each other,” he said. Jaina waded out to the boat, using the water to clean the sand from her soles before climbing in, and Tandred wrapped the tarp around them again, then made to adjust the sail.

“We?” Jaina asked, even as she dared to hope. “I thought you weren’t coming?”

“Well, the damp’s terrible for my guitar,” Tandred said as his hands worked expertly. “Might as well see what I can do to hasten the process so I can get back to it.”

“...thank you,” Jaina said. “And there’s something I can do too.” She leaned forward, and began drawing glowing arcane symbols in the air. Tandred turned, slightly startled, and then settled back to watch, light illuminating his features, finding little crinkles and highlighting the bits of grey in his chestnut brown hair. Jaina ignored it and focused on her work, shooing the symbols towards the sails. Immediately, the sails became filled and steadied, as though capturing the wind on a perfect sailing day. She repeated the process for the rudder, and it ceased to buck in its lock, simply waiting to be used.

Tandred whistled, though the sound was nearly lost in the wind. “Is that how you made it to Kalimdor in one piece?”

“Yes, though the effect is temporary, and can be draining over long distances,” Jaina warned. “The process for making properly enchanted sails is much longer, and still relies on the skill of the navigator, helmsman, and sailors. There are no good short cuts, not when it comes to sailing, and not anything else that matters.”

Tandred frowned. “So, how draining was this?”

“Not very, since it won’t take us weeks or months to get out there.” Jaina nodded to him. “You manage the sails, I’ll steer.”

Tandred nodded to her and settled by the sails. Their boat was small, designed for no more than two adults, or an adult and one or two eager, excited children learning their first lessons in sailing, and wasn’t meant for rough waters and stormy seas, but with Jaina’s enchantments and Tandred’s expertise, they sailed bravely on.

As Jaina’s mother had noted, much of the coastline was abandoned. Fishermen still took in hauls during the rain, and sometimes even in storms, but nothing out there for them now, the fish driven deep by relentless precipitation and pounding surf.

 _We’ll make this right,_ Jaina vowed. _We will make it all right again._

The journey was tense and quiet, and her warmth at Tandred’s company soon faded as her mind began to churn like the sea. Her brother spent much of his time working the sails, taking both comfort and familiarity from it, even as everything around him was so stormy, and Jaina gripped the rudder with as much need for stability as she did for the boat to follow the coastline north-east.

On a clear day, with the sun bright overhead, Jaina could have seen the very tips of Menethil Harbour’s keep, silver and white standards fluttering in the wind. This was not such a day, the rain closing around them like fingers and restricting their visual range to scarcely twice her arm’s length, so it was only when Crestfall Island loomed up at them, craggy cliffs overlooking the eastern section of the Baradin Strait, that she realized they had arrived.

“Catacombs are just over there,” Tandred said, and Jaina shifted the rudder slightly, letting the wind carry them closer to the shoreline. The entrance to the catacombs of Crestfall was a dark smudge on an otherwise featureless rock, and the pair of them used all they had to aim for it.

Jaina felt magic trickle out of her as both rudder and sails fought hard, and she took in a sharp breath. Tandred didn’t look back at her, but he did raise his voice to be sure he could be heard over the howling wind. “Everything alright?”

“I’m fine, this is definitely it,” Jaina replied. “We’re right in the heart of the storm.”

“Good, then let’s get inside.” The boat rocked and rolled, and Jaina clung to the rudder, holding it steady and firm, just as Tandred cursed softly and held the ropes tighter.

 _The very sea is fighting us,_ Jaina thought angrily. _It’s not right, it’s not fair. We are the children of Sea and Sky, and we will not be stopped!_

If she had been a shaman, perhaps it would have worked, perhaps the elements would have listened to her passion and her anger, but she was not. She was an archmage and a sailor and a politician, and that meant her command of the elements was reduced to what she could do with magic and screaming into the wind.

Tandred was calmer, was steadier as rain turned to sleet and the boat sailed into an entrance that had been a small smudge from its earliest sighting and was in actuality twice as tall as their ship’s sail. Inside, the rain and wind died, and everything was still, eerily quiet as the tempest roared outside.

“That was well done,” Jaina said as she let the magic fade from the rudder. “You did better than I could have.”

“I’ve dealt with plenty of storms,” Tandred said with a shrug, pushing the hood of his cape back. “You can’t be meek about the sea.”

 _I’m not meek!_ came to Jaina’s lips, nettled as she was by Tandred’s dismissal, and clamped them shut. The sails, still enchanted to fill with wind, carried them deeper into the catacombs as the water became increasingly more shallow with each twist, turn, and dripping outcropping of rock.

When the boat bumped gently against the catacomb floor, Jaina pulled the magic from the sails, and it ceased to move. Tandred shook out the tarp and threw it ashore, then climbed out of the boat, holding it steady as Jaina did the same, water rolling from her as she sighed with relief.

Jaina tugged off her rain cape, shook it out -- causing Tandred to grumble -- and set it on top of the tarp. After a moment, Tandred copied her. “Do you not think we’ll need it?”

“I need to move my arms to fight,” Jaina said, shaking her head slightly. “It won’t rain on us in here.”

“Probably,” Tandred murmured, setting his hand on his saber.

“Probably,” Jaina agreed, and led the way. The ground here was dry, only faintly scenting of salt and damp, though here and there Jaina could find hints that the water had moved up further and retreated, with slick trails of sea-scum and the occasional shell. She knelt down, picking one up and turning it over with her fingers.

“Odd,” Tandred remarked from just over her shoulder, and she fought the urge to punch him in the knee, just as a warning. “We don’t usually find anything this far up, and the water isn’t supposed to be this high to begin with.”

“The sea rose up and left this,” Jaina said, holding out the shell to him. “It’s been tooled.”

“Tooled by what?” Tandred murmured. “Fishmen?”

“They’re called murlocs in Nerglish,” Jaina corrected him and he made a face. “It’s useful information to know.”

“I have a hard time believing that their random gurgling and babbling is a language,” Tandred said, tossing the shell behind him as Jaina stood, brushing her knees off lightly, unconsciously copying her mother’s favourite gesture. “It’s just like dog growls, isn’t it?”

“Animals are smarter than you think, if you can talk to them,” Jaina pointed out, and her mind drifted to white fur and bright blue eyes. “At least, some of them.”

“If I ever need to talk to an animal, I’ll keep that in mind,” Tandred muttered, and Jaina started to walk again. The catacombs twisted and turned beneath Crestfall Island, the corridor becoming more narrow and less tall until Jaina could reach up and touch the salt-encrusted roof with two fingers. Along the roof and one of the walls there was more sea-slime, and something skittered softly in the darkness.

“Nothing lives here, or is supposed to,” Tandred murmured, and she nodded in return. “Probably in the den, too.”

Jaina nodded again, and advanced slowly and carefully, straining her senses to listen for more. The catacombs, difficult to navigate and unpleasant to spend time in, had on and off been the location of choice for smugglers to hide in. The last time it had been used, Jaina had been only sixteen, in the height of her learning and eager to help her father’s men deal with them. Now, she was virtually alone, twenty-five, and had a fraction more patience.

 _Well, maybe a little more than a fraction,_ Jaina thought as she eased herself around a corner and summoned bright, blinding light to her hand, hurling it into the room like a grenade.

“Jaina Proudmoore, that is not subtle at all,” Tandred muttered at her shoulder as the den erupted into angry, frightened, frantic gurgling and clacking.

“Subtlety has its place,” Jaina said, striding forward. “Just not here.”

When the light faded and dimmed to something more manageable, she could see there were a dozen murlocs huddled around their messy nests of scavenged coral and seaweed, clutching at their large, sensitive eyes. Meant to swim in the ocean depths, the burst of light had caused them pain, though Jaina knew it would fade, and would not damage them further. The den’s other occupants, however, weren’t suffering from nearly the same disadvantage, though they did not charge.

The deep ocean was a thing of wonders, Jaina had learned, and Tiran shores did not hold every secret, every type of creature that walked, swam, or flew. She had only learned of the Makrura, the creatures before her now, when she had gone to Kalimdor and found them lurking in tidal pools and attacking Theramore’s own fishing vessels.

“They look like they’d be good with butter sauce,” Tandred commented, his saber bare in his hand, eying the massive crustaceans. “They weren’t fooled by your trick, show them another one.”

“Oh, I will,” Jaina said, and cast another spell: she hated to use translation spells, because they didn’t capture every nuance of a language. There were only spoken words, no intonation, no shades of meaning, no body language… no scent. Still, without claws or tail or shell, she was at a disadvantage. “Makrura, wait,” she called out to them. “We mean you no harm.”

“Yes, we do,” muttered Tandred, even as his eyes widened as Jaina extended the spell to both of them, bringing him information but not translating his words back to them. “We absolutely do. Jaina, what are you doing?”

“Intruders,” the largest Makrura clacked as the others clicked and skittered, just out of range of the spell’s range. “We are commanded to fight your kind.”

“It is you who are the intruders,” Jaina said firmly. “These are our spawning dens, and for many seasons we have lived here, grown here, evaded nets and spears. You have no right to be in this place, but we will not harm you.” Jaina snapped her teeth, doing her best to emphasize it without claws, though it was mostly for the benefit of Tandred, who looked sour.

“You land dwellers, you warmbloods, you take all you can find and more than you can use,” the Makrura leader argued back. “We are promised this place in exchange for service, because the tides will rise and the land dwellers will choke and drown. We do not mourn, for none of you would weep for A’clwn and the dwellers of the deep.”

“You are A’clwn, or you are all A’clwn?” Jaina asked, and the Makrura’s eyestalks wavered in confusion.

“I am A’clwn, it is my spawn name,” the Makrura replied. “Why do you ask?”

“I am Jaina,” she replied. “I ask because asking questions is how I understand. What else was promised to you?”

“Spawning grounds, safe from land dwellers and eaters,” A’clwn said at length. “We are all dwellers of the deep, but shallower waters are needed. These ones are not the best, there is little to eat, but it is the promise of more that matters to us.”

“You shouldn’t have to settle for anything so poor, when you’re doing all the work,” Jaina said, thinking fast. “Who made this promise to you? Another dweller of the deep?”

“Of a kind,” A’clwn said, clattering softly as he -- Jaina’s study of his shell patterns seemed to lead towards this, but it was hard to confirm it without seeming impolite -- considered the question. “The Sea Witch is powerful and can give us much.”

 _...why does that sound familiar?_ Jaina wondered. “What is this Sea Witch?”

“I have lived long and seen much,” A’clwn said. “I have seen the wet seasons and the dry ones, the hunts and the purges, but the Sea Witch is from a time before then. She is not like this one, and not like those ones.” He waved a claw in the direction of the murlocs. “She is different. She has magic of the deeps, command over the wind and rain. More than mere light.”

“Mere light did enough,” Jaina reminded him. “A dweller of the deep, not like yourself or the murlocs, a mage…” Her eyes widened. “Naga.”

“Is that so?” A’clwn asked, regarding her with all eyestalks. Jaina resisted the urge to curse or to pace, but she wanted to do both.

 _The naga… they’d been spotted along the shoreline, and Tyrande warned me of them and their history, but this… if they can do this to us… no, there must be more to it. Otherwise we’d be dead._ “She will give you nothing,” Jaina said, her voice firm and certain. “I don’t know if it’s the same one, but a dear friend of mine lost his father and many of his people over the years to the depredations of a naga witch. She demanded endless sacrifice, and when she did not have trolls to feed her bloodlust, she turned on her servants, murlocs like your allies, and surely Makrura like yourself.”

“The children of Zandalar are hunters,” A’clwn said, though uneasily, or so it seemed from the way his dozens of legs shifted with discomfort. “They are capable of watching their own backs.”

“Not from a witch that floods the land and leaves them with nothing,” Jaina said. “Their old island is abandoned, actually, flooded as they fled. It probably isn’t very deep, and it’s been a few years… all in all a very good environment for spawning.”

“You offer this to us… why?” A’clwn demanded. “Do you not want to kill us? Your spawnmate does. I see it in his claws and his stubby eyestalks.”

“No, we do not,” Jaina said firmly, even as Tandred made a choked, angry noise. “There’s no reason for us to do battle. We do intend to fight the Sea Witch, but we don’t need to fight you, if you leave now.”

The Makrura considered, and turned to consult with the others outside spell range. Tandred tried to get her attention and she ignored him, choosing instead to examine the den. Enough time had passed that the murlocs could see again, and she could see amongst them a clutch of tadpoles, their tiny bodies still uncertain on new legs as they chattered to their parents. Even as Jaina recalled the devastation that murlocs could cause, their appearance, harmless and demanding she care for the helpless things, tugged at her heartstrings.

“Tell us where the islands are, and we will go there to confirm what you have said,” A’clwn said, drawing her attention back to him. “If you have lied to us, we will return.”

“If you ever wish to find me again, I live on an island with stone walls and great spires,” Jaina said. “You won’t return here.”

The Makrura clattered, and A’clwn shifted a bit. “Let us pass and we will go.”

Jaina stepped aside, clear of the entrance, and gestured for Tandred to do so as well. Tandred was rarely roused to anger, so she was uneasy to find his expression thunderous, brows drawn and mouth curved in a deep frown. The Makrura allowed the murlocs to gather their belongings first, their eyestalks swivelling attentively. The murlocs used great, glass chests inlaid with coral and gold to keep their treasures, mostly shells, pearls, and bits of weapons. They placed their children on top of the chests, then hauled all that they valued out into the corridor and, eventually, towards the water.

“Please don’t damage our boat or our belongings,” Jaina added after waving goodbye to one of the murloc tadpoles, who waved back and then ducked -- her? -- head shyly as her siblings chattered at her. “We won’t be able to swim back home without them.”

A’clwn clattered at her. “Your vessel will not be harmed. May we not see each other again until times of joy and good spawning, J’na.”

“To your good spawning as well, A’clwn,” Jaina said, and smiled, though she doubted the Makrura understood the gesture. His eyestalks twitched in what she hoped was a friendly way before he followed his people out, around the corner and into the corridor. As the skittering and murmuring faded, she turned to Tandred. “Well, that went--”

“What was that all about?!” Tandred demanded, and Jaina blinked before she felt her anger rise and the cold prickle against her skin again. “Have you gone completely mad?!”

“Not as far as I’ve noticed,” Jaina replied icily. “As for what I was doing, I was negotiating a peace, obviously. There was no reason for us to fight. They were being used, manipulated by a more powerful figure and lied to. Now that they know, they can live better lives because of it. Obviously.”

Tandred scowled at her, his face twisting in a way so like their father’s that her heart clenched. “They’re monsters, Jaina. What if they hadn’t believed you about the island?”

“Then I would have found another way!” Jaina cried, and as an afterthought, made certain the translation spell was inactive. “The island is real, the Darkspear abandoned it two years ago. They’ll be happy there if they don’t mind the weather, which I suspect they won’t. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“What if they attack people because you left them alive?” Tandred demanded. “What if they take the spoils you promised them and then turn around and attack Kul Tiras, or your island which you so generously gave them the location of!”

“They won’t!” Jaina cried, her voice echoing through the den. “They raid coastal settlements because they’re near the shallow waters they need for spawning, not because they’re some kind of invading army!”

“You don’t know that!” Tandred bellowed back, fist clenched around his sword so hard that the point quivered violently. Jaina’s eyes flashed with anger and her fingertips frosted over, shedding snow that melted on the stone floor.

“Yes, I do!” Jaina yelled back. “I’ve made a study of it, I’ve listened and learned and cared instead of sticking my head in the sand like a warmonger!”

“You mean you’re a naive child who doesn’t care about who lives or dies to your monsters, so long as you keep your hands clean!” Tandred accused, and Jaina rocked, as though she’d been slapped.

“When did you become an overeager zealot, always seeking to spill blood before speaking?” Jaina demanded, even as her hands shook. _I can turn him into a hedgehog right now if he strikes me, I can’t--_ “What happened to my brother, the dreamer and the musician? Did you break a guitar string since I last saw you?”

Tandred’s face reddened. He opened his mouth to retort when a web of lightning splashed against the cave wall behind him. He ducked low, and Jaina spun to face the threat.


	3. Late Winter, Year 27

On the far side of the den, shapes approached them, rapid and near-silent on the stone. Jaina’s gun was in her hand in an instant as two huge, hulking figures moved towards them rapidly, their inhuman, reptilian features set in a grimace. Each was armed with a polearm, the shaft steel and the head made of jagged coral and shell, and their arms were massive, muscular, and covered in scales.  
  
Jaina fired at the first, and her shot spanged off of one of the dozens of necklaces and chains adorning the creature’s neck. Jaina cursed softly, and switched to a spell. The creature shrank immediately, and Tandred shot at the second creature, even as the first, now a crab, crawled over his fallen trident, frustrated and disoriented.  
  
“What, you aren’t going to try negotiating with these ones?” Tandred demanded, and stepped towards the hulking creature. Jaina gritted her teeth in anger.  
  
“These are the Sea Witch’s bodyguards, they’re naga,” Jaina told him, briefly watching as he fought the warrior before seeking out one of the sorceresses in the back. Much of naga sorcery tended to relate to the powers of water and storm. This spellcaster used the power of lightning to strike her foes and Jaina knew she had to take care.  
  
 _They’re all but incapable of using their powers under water, so they’re even angrier than usual while on land,_  she thought, and felt the enemy sorceress gather power. Concentrating, she felt the intent of the spell as it wove itself together and clamped down on it, ripping out the middle pieces. Stunned, the sorceress slithered forward uncertainly. Before she could draw the bow in one of her four hands, Jaina shot the naga in the neck twice, and she choked and fell.  
  
She heard her brother grunt and turned to him. He had the naga warrior down, stabbing between pieces of jewelry expertly.  _I wonder what he’s imagining he’s fighting instead?_  An image flickered through Jaina’s mind in a flash, bright green skin replacing deep blue scales, and she turned from him, focusing on the next wave of naga.  
  
They came again, forced to come at Jaina and Tandred slowly due to the narrow corridor, and she fought. She had fought countless times before. Duels between students, on her travels through Lordaeron on errands… the entire trip from Kalimdor’s shores to Hyjal had been nothing but battle.  
  
Her brother, too, had not been idle, and he fought as though he were on a ship during a boarding action: he would knock opponents down and keep them there, using height advantage and upper body strength born of years at sea to hack and chop and trample. She would have learned to fight the same way if she had stayed, or used swiftness and agility to outfox opponents, running them into others in close quarters.  
  
Instead she knew not to give ground to charging enemies. She knew how to judge distance, aim, and fire in moments. The delicate work she’d done to modify her gun while she’d still been a student of Dalaran allowed her to reload seamlessly, allowing her a continuous stream of fire, though she picked her shots carefully.  
  
Magic floated around her, as half-broken symbols, as expended energy, as gleaming, shivering pieces of ice and glass, digging into the fabric of reality and tearing. Apprehension pulled at her as the last sorceress collapsed, heaping with the others, and Tandred drove his sword down into the crab, killing it even as it turned back to a warrior, trying desperately to die with a weapon in its hand.  
  
“Something’s wrong,” Jaina said, eying the naga warrior. Tandred didn’t remove his sword, instead taking his revolver and firing twice into the back of the naga’s skull. He looked at her, and wiped green-blue blood from his cheek.  
  
“You don’t say,” her brother said sarcastically, and pulled his saber from the dead naga’s spine. “What gave you that idea?”  
  
Jaina ignored his tone, and answered the question instead. “The fabric of reality is thin here, weakened. There’s no reason why this little skirmish should have created rents unless reality’s weft was already extremely weak. We need to find the source of this before it gets worse, and the little holes become huge rifts.”  
  
“What does that mean, in Tiran?” Tandred demanded, though he was already moving, pushing and kicking the dead naga aside. Jaina reached into her sleeve and summoned a tiny vial from her lab to her hand. She stood at his side, and held up a hand to him. Tandred made a face, but nodded. Jaina opened the vial and, very carefully, sprinkled a few drops of clear liquid onto one of the bodies. It raced across the corpse, turning it grey before it dissolved into ash.  
  
Tandred whistled softly, nudging at the ash with his boot. “Is that safe?”  
  
“Good job, asking that after you touch it,” Jaina murmured, and moved to the next. Each body was cared for in the same way, and the scent of ash and dust made her nose itch. She raised her hands, summoning snow and icy rain to wash the ash away. “Yes, it’s safe once it reaches ash form. Don’t let it touch your skin otherwise. You will very likely die.”  
  
“What is it?” Tandred asked, uneasy. Jaina capped the vial and put it back in her sleeve, sending it back from whence it came, a rack of vials in her lab, all with similar use and purpose.  
  
“Ash-water,” Jaina said, and headed towards the far corridor. “I developed it after I realized it would be incredibly impractical to find fuel to burn every dead body we’d accumulate during battle. Pyres are all well and good for usual deaths, but unusual ones, not so much.”  
  
“Why burn them at all?” Tandred asked, following Jaina, though he kept his voice down now as they hurried deeper and deeper into the catacombs. “They’re not infected with the plague.”  
  
“There are plenty of reasons to burn corpses,” Jaina pointed out. “Necromancers can raise the dead as lesser creatures, skeletons or zombies. They’re not particularly intelligent, but they’re horrifying to those unused to them, and are useful enough as fodder. They can be used to feed greater undead that feast on corpses, or as spare parts to replace battle damage. Dead bodies, left untended, spread illness and disease. They stink, and burying them takes up a great deal of land that can be better served for people or preserving natural habitat. Memorials can be made no larger than a brick, and you can fit a person’s ashes in a container the same size.”  
  
“That’s not returning to Mother Ocean,” Tandred said flatly, and Jaina’s back stiffened.  
  
“No, it’s not,” she replied. “As for your other question, from before, what it means in Tiran is that if we don’t find the source of all of this magic and these storms, we could experience an invasion from another plane of existence.”  
  
“Well, we’re used to those,” Tandred muttered, and grunted as he nearly ran into Jaina when she stopped. “What?”  
  
“No, we’re not ‘used’ to invasions,” Jaina said, her voice hard. “We’ve simply dealt with each of them, at the cost of lives. We need to stop this one before it starts.”  
  
“I’m not saying that we don’t,” Tandred growled. “I’m just saying it’s happened before.”  
  
“Not like this, I suspect,” Jaina replied and hurried on.  _Thrall would take me seriously, he’d… understand. He knows what incursions do, he’s dealt with them before. Tandred’s grown hard and soft by turns._  
  
Her brother fell silent, and his brooding anger only nettled her further now that battle was done, and seething anger moved through her veins instead of adrenaline. The tunnels were even more narrow than before, slowing their progress even as they tried to hurry. As it grew darker, Jaina nudged more magic into the glowing ball that lit the way, peeking around corridors like a thoughtful scout.  
  
It was difficult to say how long they’d been underground, the one disadvantage of continuous night. Jaina thought that it might have been an hour all told, with the conversations, arguments, and battle, and now the seemingly endless wandering. Tandred had once again lapsed into silence, and Jaina’s tongue was stilled by anger that fizzled and popped close to the surface.  
  
 _We can’t afford to start fighting again, not now,_  Jaina thought as she rounded another corridor. As she walked, she could hear, between steps, dripping water. Her eyes widened and she held up a hand to halt her brother, and in response, the ball dimmed. She recited another spell silently, and her ears began to glow purple, evoking a soft curse from Tandred, though her ears picked up every nuance of the phrase, the accent hiding behind years of practice, the very pieces of the accents and dialects spoken by every person he’d ever heard speak.  
  
 _I need to adjust that,_  Jaina thought as she listened. The dripping was loud, crisp and clear, distinct around the sound of her own heartbeat and Tandred’s breathing. Softer than the dripping, she could hear hissing and chanting, the rush of moving water, and the soft, soft chime of summoned magic. She deactivated the spell. “It’s just ahead.”  
  
“Ready for it?” Tandred asked, and drew his saber again, and held his revolver in his left hand, fingers flexing around the grip. Briefly, Jaina smiled, summoning her gun to her right hand, and drawing out her staff from her sleeve, calling it from her workshop. Her staff was long and slender, designed to help her channel her magic through the expertly crafted crystal that topped it.  
  
Jaina went around the corner first, and stopped short, and Tandred nearly rammed into her as she took in the sight: in the middle of the largest chamber in the catacombs was a small lake, and in the centre of it, an altar had been created. The altar was low and wide, composed of stone and shell, gleaming brightly even in the dim light. At its centre, the core and the heart of the storms, was a blue pearl, about the size of a fist and flawless as it shimmered, throwing light everywhere. Behind the altar was the Sea Witch, though she seemed entirely absorbed in her task.  
  
“Jaina, move,” Tandred growled as she stared, and she took a half step aside. He struggled past her, pushing into the room and looking around. “What is that?”  
  
“Incredible…” Jaina murmured, her eyes growing wide.  _It’s one thing to read about it, but another to see it. It certainly explains both the nature of the storms and the thinning of the barrier between planes--_  
  
“What is?” Tandred demanded. “What’s incredible?”  
  
“It’s a powerful artifact,” Jaina explained, not taking her eyes from the altar. “How could she have gotten it, as far as I know its use is limited to--”  
  
“Jaina Rhiannon Proudmoore, will you explain what that damned thing actually  _is_?!” Tandred cried, and his voice echoed through the chamber. The Sea Witch’s gaze snapped up, staring at both of them. The naga’s silver eyes narrowed as her lips twisted into a grimace, and she placed one webbed hand on the blue pearl, pointing at them with the other three.  
  
“Shit,” Jaina commented as she felt power surge around her. “Duck!”  
  
Tandred dove to the side as a huge wave rose and crested from the still lake, and Jaina jumped the other way. The water crashed against the entrance and as one, the Proudmoore siblings began to fire. Tandred’s heavier, higher-caliber shot struck the Witch’s huge, watery shield, splashing and swirling as it slowed and stopped, while Jaina’s smaller bullets did little more than faintly ripple the water, and Jaina gritted her teeth in frustration.  
  
 _Do I have enough of the fire ones to evaporate the shield?_  she wondered as she moved closer to the Witch, and Tandred skirted the edge of the lake to move towards the altar on the other side.  _They’re harder to make, and will it make a difference if she’s drawing on the Stone?_  
  
Jaina had recognized it, of course: the Stone of the Tides, an artifact spoken of in whispers by the trolls, such as the Darkspear, written about by mages with an interest in Zandalari legends, such as Archmage Runeweaver, and which appealed to young aspiring mages who enjoyed pissing off their peers, such as herself. Even in the hands of the untrained, it was dangerous, capable of summoning up huge walls of water to crash down on charging warriors, and the odds of the Sea Witch being untrained were poor, to say the least.  
  
 _We need to pour on the attacks,_  Jaina thought as she passed her hand over her gun, casting a spell to reload it with the fire-enchanted bullets.  _Break her hold on the Stone, get her away from it somehow._  She aimed and fired, watching her brother approach, his gun down and sword out.  _No, that won't work at all._  "Tandred, fire!"  
  
"Don't teach your grandfather to stitch silk," Tandred retorted. He raised his gun to fire at the Sea Witch, the weapon booming. The Witch, forewarned, raised her shield again, doing little other than annoying her.  
  
Jaina cursed softly as she approached.  _Tandred's never done much with spellcasters,_  she thought.  _And I can manage sorcery, but this is elemental magic. If only Thrall were here, a shaman would be very useful, or Vol'jin might be able to wrest the Stone away from--!_  Jaina's eyes widened, and she fired again, evaporating a fist-sized hole in the shield, though it flowed back into place after a moment.  
  
Tandred fired again, advancing fast. Jaina made a noise of frustration, and hastened to get closer.  _He's moving in too fast, what is he doing?!_  When his revolver clicked empty, he charged towards the shield, swinging hard.  
  
"No!" Jaina cried as Tandred connected with the shield, his arm slowing, and then stopping. Even from where she stood, she could see the quick, cruel smile that quirked on the Sea Witch’s lips, and the way her brother's eyes widened as the shield flexed and flung him back, clear across the cavern to strike the wall and sink down.  _No!_  
  
"You're next, little girl," the naga hissed, shifting her attention to Jaina. Jaina felt cold and prickling and angry as she forced herself to look at her opponent, and not her brother.  
  
"I've fought worse," Jaina said, shifting her grip on her staff and striking the ground with it. Where the staff touched stone, a summoning circle bloomed from it, tracing out the arcane symbols that called out to the elemental plane of water. "Bluey!"  
  
Water in droplets rose from the symbol as though raining in reverse. The droplets shimmered and gathered in mid air, forming into a blobby shape, its only true distinctive features a pair of deep-set eyes as green as the deepest, darkest sea. "Jaina! Oh no!" The elemental's voice was high and childish, and it quivered as the Stone tugged at it. "What's going on? It's calling to me!"  
  
"Get Tandred, stop him from drowning, and hurry," Jaina urged. "I don't need you to fight her, just save little Urchin."  
  
The water elemental burbled with agreement and dove into the water, flowing as quickly as an ocean current. Jaina took a breath, and raised her staff again.  _I had hoped to save my power and keep it close, but now I need it._  She took a deep breath, and let cold flood over her.  
  
Kael had once described his magic as being like a bonfire, hot and dangerous and thrilling. Kylian's, like music, dancing to the beat only he could hear. She had always had an affinity with ice, and it came easily to her now, drawing not on anger, but on all of the discipline she'd had drilled into her. Fear might cause her to falter. Anger, to lose control. She was an archmage, and she would not allow a mere Witch, no matter how powerful, to stop her.  
  
Ice shards formed in the air, hanging there as they spun up as large as swords and then hurtled down towards the shield. The Sea Witch flung the first back, and the second, but the third sliced through her shield and into one of the naga's arms, causing her to bleed blue-green. She hissed in anger, and drew on the Stone again. Power shivered through the air as she flung a wave at Jaina, who countered by creating a huge spike of ice in the ocean which split the wave around her, splashing her and striking the cavern walls harmlessly. Soaked, she grimaced.  
  
 _If I can just get closer..._  Jaina thought, and conjured more ice, aiming not for the naga, but now for the altar.  _Or if I can..._  
  
The Sea Witch hissed in anger, pointing with an uninjured arm at the icicle and shattering it into pieces. The water of the lake began to churn with the half-shaped forms of elementals, water and air, throwing up foam and a strong scent of salt. Jaina cried out in anger, and from the storm of ice and snow came a thin strike of lightning, cracking loudly as it struck the naga's shield, causing it to ripple violently.  
  
The lake continued to swirl.  
  
 _I can't let her finish that spell,_  Jaina thought frantically.  _We'll drown and we'll die, and I have far too much paperwork to finish back home to just leave it!_  Gripping her staff more tightly, she pressed power into the whirling storm, flinging ice at the naga witch.  _She needs to let go of the Stone and even the scales._  
  
The naga snarled at her, hissing and spitting in burbling, vicious Nazja. "Interfering human! You will be destr--"  
  
“Ah, clam it, you big snake!” Tandred shot out of the lake, encased in water. Jaina could see Bluey’s eyes hovering just above Tandred’s own, and realized with a start that they were perfectly matched. The naga witch hissed, her focus shifting for a fraction of a moment. Jaina saw her chance, and spun the swirling blizzard into a single, huge speartip of gleaming, sharpened ice, driving it down.  
  
The naga’s shield gleamed once before it buckled, popping like a bubble. Jaina’s icicle shattered into a billion, billion fragments, sending a shower of ice chips everywhere. She grasped for her power as it flowed through her, making her cold, coating her with ice and snow and water and wind and--  
  
Tandred hit the Sea Witch shoulder first, tackling her bodily and knocking her away from the Stone by a full body length. They both hit the wet, slippery ground with a crunch and a slap. Immediately, Tandred grappled at her, punching her in the stomach and the sides as she scratched at him with four webbed hands, each movement slightly weaker than the last.  
  
 _I have to hurry,_  Jaina thought, and raised her hand. The icicle that formed was palm shape and flew from her swiftly and surely, aimed not towards her brother or the hissing, writhing naga, but towards the altar. It struck the Stone of the Tides hard, and the ice shattered as it freed it, hurling it from the low, stone slab and into the water.  
  
“No!” the naga cried angrily, and threw Tandred from her. He was airborne briefly before Bluey’s arms shot out, digging his hands into the ground to slow and cushion her brother’s fall. As the Stone sank, the water seemed to explode, hurling itself upwards in all directions. Bluey flowed away from Tandred as though he had been drained, and her brother rested on his hands and knees, coughing up water and clinging to his weapons with abraded knuckles, reddened from the salt water.  
  
All around her, Jaina could feel the magic, once building to a crescendo of power and destruction, shatter. She pulled all of her magic in tight, wrapping it around her as a protective, icy casing and waited.  
  
Released from the Sea Witch’s iron, scaley grip, the lake’s occupants had merged together into an elemental of storm and anger. It reminded her of Bluey, in many ways, but without her childhood friend’s kindness and with all of the anger of the Maelstrom. It advanced on the naga with murder cresting through it, and Jaina knew she needed, once again, to hurry.  
  
Jaina hurled herself forward, using magic to skip steps, carrying herself across the distance to the base of the altar. She turned to the elemental and held out both arms. Within the elemental, she could see the Stone of the Tides, pulsing like a heart. “Wait!”  
  
The elemental looked down at Jaina, a tidal wall peering at a schooner, and paused. “Why?” it asked, its voice as childlike as Bluey’s, but holding darkness and depth.  
  
“I have a question to ask,” Jaina replied, keeping her voice firm, and looking up into its face. “You are free now, and safe.”  
  
The elemental seemed to consider, lightning crackling along massive, watery fists. It was unbound, as Bluey was. No enchanted shackles to confine its power and shape. No wards to prevent a caster from freezing or drowning or being electrocuted. This was how elementals came to shamans, raw and real. Jaina felt its power and was elated, her heart racing, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Even as she knew it would likely destroy her, stop her heart and freeze her solid, she wanted to reach for it, to touch it and feel that endless depth of oceanic power in the moment before she died. “We will wait.”  
  
She felt a hand touch her shoulder, squeezing it, and it drew her from the elemental’s gaze. She shook her head a few times, clearing it.  _I wonder if that’s how shamans feel when they call on the elements… and why they tend to pass out swiftly when they’re done._  She turned to the naga, who stared at her. “Are you the Sea Witch that lorded over the Darkspear trolls on their island?”  
  
The naga blinked at her, and then laughed harshly. “Did the weaklings find purchase on the shores?” she asked in return. “I still taste Sen’jin’s blood on my lips.”  
  
“Think that’s a yes,” Tandred muttered in her ear, and Jaina flicked her fingers at him. “Why did you come here?”  
  
“A strong affinity for sea and storm,” the Sea Witch replied, struggling to rise. Tandred started towards her, and elemental water swirled and rolled, looping around the Witch before either could say anything. Jaina didn’t argue. “As well as isolated and private. Too many have gone to Kalimdor of late.”  
  
“It’s our home, we live there,” Jaina said. She licked her lips, tasting salt and frost. “Why are you doing this? What purpose does it serve?”  
  
The Sea Witch laughed again, long and loud, her voice echoing even as the elemental water creeped closer to her face. “The bargain has been sealed,” she replied, and the water stilled briefly. “The Queen demands her due. You stop me here and the waters will rise elsewhere until Stormrage keeps his promise.”  
  
 _Illidan,_  Jaina thought, her temper suddenly clenching tight.  _Tyrande said that he bargained with the naga and had them as allies… but Illidan fled Azeroth. He’s not coming back, assuming he survived the battle in Northrend at all._  “Azshara will be waiting a long time if she thinks Illidan is ever going to help her again. No more questions.”  
  
The naga’s eyes widened, first with anger, then denial, and the water moved, flowing over her, digging into her eyes like fingers and her mouth like probing tentacles.  
  
“You shouldn’t watch, this will be violent,” Jaina said, clenching her jaw. The Sea Witch thrashed, tail slapping against the stone as she struggled.  
  
“Neither should you,” Tandred muttered, though Jaina did not look to see what her brother did. Instead, she was fixed on this moment, brutal and terrible and deserved all at once: water flowed into the Sea Witch in an endless stream as the force she had enslaved and bent to her will, unchained and unleashed, took its vengeance. The water filled her, even as her scales and fins began to smoulder from countless tiny lightning strikes. She struggled and choked, clawing at a surface that gave no resistance. It may as well have been air, as far as the naga was concerned.  
  
The moment seemed to stretch forever as, from moment to moment, the Sea Witch weakened, stripped of her resistance as her arms slowly dropped and her tail stilled.  _It’s over,_  Jaina thought.  _She’s dead. I’ll use the ash-water and then we can go--_  
  
The naga Sea Witch exploded in a shower of ichor and gore as the elementals tore her from the inside out.  
  
Jaina threw up a shield to protect herself and Tandred, blood splashing from the half-dome of ice, even as her brother raised one arm to cover his eyes.  
  
“I thought you weren’t going to watch?” Jaina asked, shaking as she dismissed the shield. Water gathered around the cavern, flowing back towards the now-empty lake to fill it. Tandred slowly lowered his hand, checking his gun for damage before holstering it, then sheathed his sword.  
  
“I thought you weren’t,” he countered, and they both turned towards the lake. Jaina squared her shoulders as best she could, and let her staff rest against the stone floor. She was tired, but resolute, and it loosened her tongue.  
  
“You can’t shy away from the consequences of your actions, no matter what they might be,” she replied. “Especially if the result is distasteful.” Her brother fell silent, having little to say to that. They watched in silence as the water reformed into the single, great elemental, fists sparking, though it was missing something.  _The Stone,_  she thought, and cast about, looking for it.  
  
The Stone of the Tides had come to rest once again on the Sea Witch’s altar, centered as if placed on the spattered shells. Jaina made her way to it, finding her movements stiff from salt water and cold. She reached out to take the pearl, bracing herself against its power: in her mind’s eye, she could see an ocean. Not one but many, the mother of all oceans, spanning the whole of a world. All the ground had been swallowed, every continent, every snow capped mountain and gleaming desert. Volcanoes were extinguished, inert beneath the ocean waves, and the air was filled with moisture. No wind blew, no animals that could not swim existed. All was ocean, all was water.  
  
The Stone promised power, so much power. Nothing would stand against her. She would have no enemies, none that couldn’t be swept away and swallowed by the sea. They would respect her, fear her, quail at her anger. None would question her as she stood astride the world, a sea of power with no shore, the Mother of All Oceans herself.  
  
“Jaina?” Tandred called softly. “You’re snowing.”  
  
Was she? She couldn’t tell, all she could see was the pearl.  _Be logical,_  she told herself.  _Think of the consequences._  She had arguments with friends and people she loved. With Kael, with Arthas, even with Thrall, though that was rarer. She had arguments with Tervosh and Rylai about the wards, Tesoran and Ariana about Theramore’s laws, and her family about a dozen things, foolish or otherwise. Diplomacy was about arguing politely. Diplomacy with Varian, less so, but it was about arguing.  
  
In her mind, she pushed back the vision and saw the truth of it: there was no ground to grow friendships when the ocean salted it. It was infertile, barren as rocks, and lonely. An island with no people, no story, no future. Only a pounded, empty shore. People were not islands. They were kingdoms, they were friendships, they were arguments and laughter and pain and joy. They were love. She focused all of her will and spoke directly to the Stone.  
  
 _No,_  Jaina told it firmly, wrapping her magic around the word to give it strength.  _No. Stop that. We are not flooding this world, or any other world. Behave yourself._  
  
It seemed, for a moment, as though the Stone would ignore her. She spun her power around her, forming it into a shard of ice that grew into an iceberg, floating on the water, strong and untouchable, but as much of water as the Stone was.  
  
The vision receded, and as though it weighed nothing, Jaina lifted it from the altar, and brushed the snow from it lightly. “I believe this belongs to you,” she said to the elemental, and walked around the altar, offering it the pearl.  
  
The elemental stared at it, and then peered at Jaina. “This belongs to Neptulon, Lord of the Abyssal Depths,” it said at length, and Jaina shivered briefly. She had read of the elemental lords, knew of the damage they were capable of. Anyone who had studied the War of Three Hammers and the devastation caused by the Firelord would. “It is not for us to claim. It has passed from one set of mortal hands to the next, and when the time is right, this little pearl will return to the seas and claim another.”  
  
“It seems that time is now,” Jaina pointed out. “The Sea Witch is dead, and the Stone unclaimed.”  
  
“It is not so,” the elemental said, and Bluey’s voice was distinct in Jaina’s ears, as though he were telling her this by himself. “The naga woman stole it and used it for her own ends, but the pearl allowed her to bring it here, to this place. It was not meant for her hands, Jaina Proudmoore. It was meant for yours.”  
  
Jaina blinked once, then twice. The vision rose again, briefly, and then fell as Jaina gripped at her iceberg firmly. “There are legends of those who have used the Stone of the Tides. Champions, capable of great feats. One by one, they returned to the sea, taking the Stone with them. Will that happen to me some day?”  
  
The elemental began to shrink. “The pearl will return to the sea. It is its nature. It ebbs, flows and ebbs again. It is not the pearl’s will to determine who returns to the first waters, but they who hold the pearl itself.”  
  
Jaina nodded slowly, and thought briefly, carefully, of the vision. “I understand.”  
  
This seemed to satisfy the elemental as it sank into the lake, and after a few moments, the lake was still and calm. Bluey appeared by Jaina’s side, bubbling with worry. Jaina shifted her grip on the pearl, and reached out to pet Bluey’s wet head in comfort.  
  
“Oh, good, so glad one of us does,” Tandred commented sourly.  
  
Jaina traced a series of runes over the pearl. It flared briefly, and then sat inert in her hand. She sighed in relief as pressure she hadn’t realized she was feeling released. She tucked the Stone into one of her sleeves, keeping it close.  
  
“Jaina, just throw the damned thing away. All it’ll do is cause trouble, no matter who’s using it. People with unnatural powers.” Tandred flicked his fingers towards the place where the Sea Witch had breathed her last.  
  
Jaina stroked her fingers against the stone, controlling her temper easily. “People like me, you mean?” she asked, her voice falsely patient. Tandred opened his mouth and then closed it. Their eyes met for a moment, and he looked away. As he did so, she walked out of the cavern and back into the corridor.


	4. Late Winter, Year 27

The journey out of the catacombs was slow and steady. Exhaustion crept through Jaina as she walked. She could hear her brother behind her as neither tried to be quiet, but he did not draw even with her, instead choosing to trail a few steps behind.  
  
_I don’t care if he trusts me or not,_  Jaina thought sourly.  _If he wants to play games, let him. I’m tired and wet and hungry and cold. I don’t have time for his shit._  
  
Weary as Jaina was, it was hard not to let bitterness seep into her thoughts instead of focusing on their victory: the atmosphere felt lighter, even now. The catacombs were less flooded, and Jaina found that when they reached their rain capes and tarp -- now littered with shells and pearls left as gifts by the murlocs and Makrura -- their boat was not where they had left it.  
  
“That’s a problem,” Tandred muttered, picking off the shells and pearls and tucking them into pockets. Jaina held out her hands for some of them, and she used her sleeves to send them to Theramore, careful to keep the Stone with her.  
  
“It can’t have gone far,” Jaina said tersely. “If worst comes to worst, I’ve got enough to teleport us home again.”  
  
“Yours or mine?” Tandred asked, raising an eyebrow before pulling on his rain cape. Jaina considered, testing the edges of her magic.  
  
“Yours,” she said finally. “I don’t think I could make it as far as Kalimdor. Not without rest and food.”  
  
“So, you’re not invincible after all,” Tandred mused. Jaina shot him a look and snatched the rain cape he offered from his hands.  
  
“I never claimed that I was,” she snapped, and pulled it on before turning back towards the retreating water. Their boat had been pulled away as the sea had receded back to the ocean, and they found it bobbing gently by the entrance of the catacombs. Jaina waded out to retrieve it, holding it fast while Tandred threw the tarp into it and climbed in, then kept it steady as Jaina climbed in afterwards. Tandred fussed with the tarp in silence for a time while Jaina drew on her magic to once again enchant the sails and rudder. Once Tandred settled as was ready to guide the sails, Jaina released her magic to push them forward.  
  
The storming weather had slowed to a gentle misting, and the sea was brisk but neither choppy nor rough. She needed only to use the rudder lightly to steer them home. The clouds, heavy and dark when she had arrived, were thinning rapidly, as though they had suddenly realized they were late for an important meeting elsewhere.  
  
Jaina smiled at the thought.  _Perhaps they were. Certainly, clouds are unthinking, built up humidity gathered in clumps that grow more dense and then release… but water has its own intelligence, and Bluey has spoke of the discomfort of raining before._  She glanced down at the water, seeing her elemental friend racing through the water around them like a dolphin. She wanted to laugh, but didn’t want to explain it to her brother.  
  
“Jaina,” Tandred hissed softly, and she looked up at him, then where he was pointing, and inhaled sharply. In one particular spot, over Boralus, the clouds had thinned more than the rest, and the sun broke out from behind the clouds, and the shafts of light, through the mists, had created a rainbow.  
  
“Good work, sea creatures,” Jaina murmured, her father’s old words coming to her lips. “You’ve done a fine job, let’s go home.”  
  
“...yes, lets,” Tandred murmured, and Jaina fell silent. She kept her eyes to the rainbow, letting instinct keep her hand steady and on course.  
  
_It’s hard to feel angry when staring directly at an extremely obvious symbol of hope,_  Jaina thought, letting contentment flood over her, loosening much of the tension she’d held onto during their journey. She glanced only briefly at her brother, who had looked down to his work, focusing on adjusting and readjusting the cords, and then back up.  _Eyes on the prize._  
  
The journey back to Boralus was swift, carried by magical wind, waves that did not fight them over every naut of ocean crossed, and a lightness that came with a task accomplished. Rather than going to the cove, Jaina brought them to the docks for little boats. There were people here, men and women, young and old, laughing. They looked up and held out their hands, cupping nothing. The air was still humid, and it would linger for a time, but there was no rain to soak them through, no howling winds. When the rains came, and they would come again, they would be because Father Sky wished to touch Mother Ocean, and not because someone was using storms as weapons.  
  
_This is what it’s all about,_  Jaina thought as Tandred folded the tarp aside and jumped from the boat, splashing lightly before going ashore. Jaina followed him a moment later, tugging the hood of her cape up as he spoke to the dockmaster quietly.  _This is why we do what we do, the dangerous things, the reckless things. This is why we stand against the forces of darkness when no one else knows how to… because of the laughter. Because we want people to be happy._  
  
A stray gust of wind caught Jaina, reminding her that under her rain cape, she was still sopping, and she wrinkled her nose.  _There’s no reason, while the world saving is done, we can’t also be comfortable._  She started her march towards Boralus Keep. Around her, more and more people were coming outside, awestruck by the sun’s light. Tandred followed in her wake, and few glanced their way more than a moment.  
  
Her family was humble, in their way: fiercely proud of their line and the accomplishments of their ancestors, but they didn’t hold court as the Menethils or the Greymanes did. A sailor wasn’t any good if they were too awed to shove you out of the way when you were in it, after all. Occasionally, she heard someone call out to Tandred, asking if he was the one responsible for the departure of the rain. Tandred must have indicated something, because one person called a blessing, and others said ‘knew we could count on you’. Jaina tugged her hood a little closer, and kept walking.  
  
They were met at the entrance of Boralus Keep by servants who took their rain capes, helped them with their boots, and directed them to hot baths. Jaina let her mind drift as she soaked in the hot water until her skin tingled, and sighed with great relief.  _I can rest here the night and go home to Theramore tomorrow,_  she thought idly.  _If Thrall isn’t busy, we can spend that evening together…_  Sensation shivered through her, and she half-closed her eyes.  _He’s a good kisser, and so gentle… he’ll be good in bed, I’m so certain of it. We just need to find the time._  
  
There was a soft knock at the bathroom door, shaking Jaina from her reverie. “Lady Proudmoore, there’s tea and food waiting for you in the sitting room.”  
  
“Thank you,” Jaina called back, even as she bit back the urge to correct them.  _That’s my mother’s name, my mother’s title. I’m Jaina or Lady Jaina, or Archmage Proudmoore. I’m not a stranger here. Or… am I?_  The sense of comfort faded, leaving her with a sense of unease as she rose from the bathtub, toweled off quickly, and wrapped the thick, warm robe she’d been left around her, tying it securely before putting on a pair of slippers, and sliding the door panel open, leaving it ajar so that the servants could clean up after her.  
  
She made her way to the sitting room, and found both snacks and tea as promised, though the room was otherwise empty. Jaina sighed softly, and went to sit by the tray. She poured herself some tea, retrieved one of the jam-smeared tea cakes and, one handed, tugged one of the quilts over herself, using it as a ward against the still-prevalent cold.  _Maybe I can send a message to Tervosh, and they can whip up a quick gate so I can go home now,_  Jaina thought, nibbling at the tea-cake.  _If it were urgent, I’d teleport over anyway, and damn the fever that comes. I don’t want to be here any more, I don’t want to stay when--_  
  
The door panel slid open, and Jaina looked up. Tandred stepped inside, dressed in a quilted robe that was a bit worn around the elbows and frayed around one sleeve, but it was the same one that Jaina remembered from her last visit to Kul Tiras, before Kalimdor and Hyjal. A smile tugged at her lips, and she fought back against it.  
  
_I’m still mad at you,_  Jaina insisted.  _I am._  She said nothing as he shuffled to the tray, and as she had, claimed a cup of steaming tea and two tea-cakes, and then paused next to the couch where she was curled. She raised an eyebrow, he raised one back.  
  
“Is this seat taken?” Tandred asked, indicating where her legs were. She glanced up at his face, at the way he seemed to be neither smiling nor scowling, not judging or demanding, just asking, as though there was nothing between them.  
  
_I’m not sure if I want to thank him or put ice in his tea,_  Jaina thought, and moved, twitching the quilt to the side, and shifting her legs. Tandred sat, and made an inquiring noise.  _Does he…_ Cautiously, she put her legs back, and maneuvered so her back rested against the side of the couch, and her legs on his lap. Tandred nodded, and replaced the blanket so that they were both covered by it.  
  
Tandred took a sip of the tea, and as he let the mug rest on one of her ankles, Jaina felt it warm briefly. “He waited for two full seasons before he went after you,” her brother began, and Jaina stilled. He didn’t look at her, instead staring off towards the far side of the room, at the painting of Crestfall Island.  
  
“I told him to wait for word from me,” Jaina said, and bit her tea-cake so hard her teeth skidded sideways. “Things were busy then. I wasn’t in Kalimdor for a vacation.”  
  
“He insisted,” Tandred replied. “Things were bad, then. Arthas came back to Lordaeron during the Winter… and there was nothing we could do. Not then.”  
  
“I heard about Lordaeron’s fall,” Jaina said. “I don’t want to say it was inevitable, but I would have had to have intervened much sooner to do anything about it. Tracked down the plague early, been able to contain things more thoroughly, and… there was no turning Arthas back from his path. He was determined, stubborn even.”  
  
“People wonder--” Tandred began, and Jaina scowled, and was tempted to kick the mug from his hand. “They do, you have to know they do, but they only really knew Arthas, and not you. They saw a good prince go bad, and you were one of the last to see him.”  
  
“I don’t care what they think,” Jaina replied angrily. “Save for assaulting him or Lord Uther arresting him, there’s nothing I could have done and I was exhausted besides. He was warned, advised, even threatened, a little, and he still wouldn’t turn back, and if Stratholme had just been left…”  
  
“I want to say I know, but I don’t,” Tandred said. “I wasn’t there, all I’ve heard is rumour and what little’s come from Kalimdor… it wasn’t good.”  
  
_I told you everything I--_  She blinked. “What were you told, exactly?”  
  
“We had word of Da’s death a few months after it happened.” Grief edged at Tandred’s words, barely contained. Jaina remembered the feeling, though hers was tempered by anger and exasperation. “We were told that you had conspired with the orcs to murder Da so you could take his fleet and marines and add them to your own.” He looked at her now, and she could see her own outrage reflected in his eyes. “Word was that you were a traitor the way Perenolde had been back during the Second War: for gold, and because you were a coward.”  
  
“Why would you believe something like that of me?” Jaina demanded. “How could you not verify it?”  
  
“Because while we were deciding what to do and who to believe,  _your_  message showed up. You were so spare with the details, and you’re never like that… not unless you’re hiding something.”  
  
“It hurt to speak of it then,” Jaina said, her lips numb. “It did for a long time. Now… only from time to time, when I’m not careful.”  
  
“Then can you tell me what  _did_  happen?” Tandred asked. “We still don’t have a good idea of what you were actually even doing in Kalimdor.”  
  
Jaina nodded slowly, and reached for her tea, then brought it to her lap, staring into it. “I am allied with the Horde, first of all, but the Horde isn’t just orcs. It’s also the Darkspear tribe, trolls from that flooded island I told A’clwn about, some goblins from the Steamwheedle that have taken up with the Horde again, and some of the natives of Kalimdor, the tauren.”  
  
“Like Seahorn,” Tandred said, nodding. “And, the Steamwheedle…”  
  
“They’ve been allies before, for personal reasons,” Jaina pointed out. “And these ones are local, not necessarily any of the Princes. I’m also allies with other natives to Kalimdor, the ancestors of the High Elves. They’re the Night Elves, or the Kaldorei.”  
  
“I remember, they had all those old legends about their former home, and the great war there… Kelnar used to tell us.” Tandred sipped his tea thoughtfully. “How did it happen?”  
  
“We were all recruited to fight against the demons and prevent their return. The trolls and tauren were rescued along the way, from the Sea Witch and the centaurs respectively. The orcs themselves were recruited when their leader had a vision of the coming war, and that if humans and orcs were still fighting when the demons arrived… we’d all be ripped apart.”  
  
“You said you’d been recruited by someone too,” Tandred noted. “But not that you had a vision.”  
  
“I don’t have visions,” Jaina said, making a face. “I have experienced visual data provoked by semi-intelligent artifacts, but I’m not psychic and I don’t see things. I was recruited by the same person Thrall was, Medivh.”  
  
“...isn’t Medivh dead, or possessed?”  
  
“Both have been true, but he got better,” Jaina replied. “When Medivh was killed by Lothar, his spirit was freed from the control of Sargeras and it allowed him to return to speak to us in the capacity of an advisor and recruiter, though he couldn’t fight against the Legion, and he couldn’t force anyone to do anything. He’d spoken to three other people before he came to me.”  
  
“That must have burned, a little,” Tandred observed, sipping his tea again. “You always liked to be first.”  
  
“I was the first human to listen,” Jaina replied. “I was the first mage to identify the cause of the Lethargy and the first to successfully purge demonic influence from an orc while in its throes. I was the first to stand in defense of Hyjal. It doesn’t matter that Medivh spoke to Terenas and Antonidas first,  _I_  did those things. That’s what’s important.”  
  
Tandred nodded slowly, considering. “You said this Warchief had also been recruited by Medivh? How did that happen?”  
  
“Because Thrall is a  _good_  person,” Jaina said firmly, and she remembered Thrall as she’d first seen him, fighting her people, standing on a hill with the wind whipping his braids, his eyes narrowed and scanning the horizon. “I respect him and care for him. He believes in peace with his neighbours and will fight to protect that peace. He believes that the orcs have changed from how we knew them, that their direction is different, and they want peace and safety, not war and conquest.”  
  
“Are you in love with him, then?” Tandred demanded. “Is that why--”  
  
“Not then,” Jaina snapped back, and they stared at each other for a moment. Jaina began again. “I love him now, but that’s not why I praise him. When we met, we were enemies. He fought the forces that I had stationed to watch my back when I went north to the Oracle Cavern. That’s where Medivh asked me to meet him for the next stage of the plan. He said I’d have allies, and I got enemies, or so I thought. I still remembered what the orcs had done during the Second War, and the scattering of reports from Lordaeron before I left, so I was angry with Medivh and distrustful of Thrall. Thrall himself was remote around me, uncomfortable. I didn’t know why, then, but I do now: I looked like one of the only humans he’d trusted and cared for, the one who had been murdered. He said I was like a ghost to him.”  
  
“I can’t imagine you being much of a ghost to anyone,” Tandred said. “What changed your minds? It couldn’t have just been orders, you hate that kind of thing.”  
  
“You’re right, it wasn’t, it was…” Jaina closed her eyes, and in her mind she could hear her own voice echoing through the cavern, strident and angry, Thrall’s low and resigned to his fate while Cairne looked between them, shifting his great weight on hooves big enough to crush her head, and yet he’d seemed nervous, deferring to Thrall. It had seemed absurd, then. Not so now. “Medivh told us that Lordaeron had fallen, that Arthas… had gone from being Lordaeron’s saviour to its destroyer. That meant the Legion’s plans were coming to fruition and the Scourge would take all they could from Lordaeron and then come to Kalimdor for us, minions of the demons. We had a more immediate problem, because as I learned, Thrall had intended to act purely defensively at Stonetalon, and forbidden one of his lieutenants from attacking my people at all. Grom ignored him.”  
  
“Grom… not Hellscream? The Warsong chieftain? He was always a scary bastard, and wouldn’t he be twice this Warchief’s age? What made Thrall think he’d listen?”  
  
“More than twice, Thrall is two years younger than I am,” Jaina replied, and sighed. “Thrall believed the best of Grom because Grom had been like an older brother to him, teaching him orcish ways. Unfortunately, Thrall also knew that he was impulsive, which is why he sent him to do peon work in the forests to the northeast of Stonetalon, to… cool down.”  
  
“To take out his aggression on trees,” Tandred mused. “Not quite peeling potatoes and cleaning the head, but it’ll do.”  
  
“Except that neither the galley nor the toilet have people living in them, or they shouldn’t,” Jaina pointed out. “Grom ran into those other natives I spoke of, the Kaldorei. The Kaldorei take the forests as sacred -- it’s actually fascinating, considering the great cultural shift after--”  
  
“Jaina,” Tandred warned. “Before I go grey.”  
  
“You’re already grey,” Jaina replied, but nodded. “Grom attacked the Kaldorei. He considered it self defense, the Kaldorei felt the same. They attacked him with bows, he attacked their home with axes. It would be like if I came into your room and started pinching your things, then got mad when you were upset by it.”  
  
“You  _have_  come into my rooms to pinch my things,” Tandred grumbled. “And I have gotten mad about it, and you  _have_  been curious as to why.”  
  
“Reading materials are freely shared for the betterment of all, brother,” Jaina said, and was surprised both by her joking tone, and the fact that Tandred reddened briefly, but grinned. “The Kaldorei called on one of their ancients, Cenarius, to regrow the forest and drive out the intruders, which he did at first… but Grom had help, of a sort. The worst kind of help.”  
  
“Really bossy three year old sisters?”  
  
“Demons.”  
  
“That’s hardly funny,” Tandred said, though his voice was strained. “I remember the demons.”  
  
“Not like this, you don’t,” Jaina pointed out, and nudged him gently with her foot. “When the Legion began their invasion, one of the demons had taken the fact that the orcs had left for Kalimdor particularly personally… it was that demon who had the bargain with the orcs, the one that bound them by blood and soul. He wanted them back, especially Grom, who was the first.”  
  
“...so the demon followed to Kalimdor.”  
  
“Yes, and laid a trap. It’s the blood that does it, and consuming it seals the pact between people. Vital fluids often do, mostly blood, being the most vital, but also sweat, tears, saliva, or pleasure fluids.”  
  
“...do I want to know what kind of pact you sign with that last one?”  
  
“Probably not.” Jaina sipped her tea, and sighed. “Grom was desperate to win against the Kaldorei. He wouldn’t be swayed, he wouldn’t be pushed out and return to his Warchief in his defeat with tail tucked between legs. He accepted the boon once more and used it to kill Cenarius and drive away the Kaldorei. Then, as a demonic servant, he built up a force south of Stonetalon, in the desolate lands by the Forbidding Sea. It was there we met with them.”  
  
“I’d say you were in for a fight, but you said you cleansed him, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yes,” Jaina said, frowning at the memory. “Rightfully, we should have killed him, or so I felt. The Kirin Tor was clear about the demon-tainted, and our options tended to be limited, but Thrall… he didn’t just want to stop the Warsong. He wanted to save them. He understood that they made mistakes, that they were reckless and impulsive and idiotic--”  
  
“I doubt those were all his words,” Tandred observed dryly. Jaina made a face at him.  
  
“Grom once called me a weak human girl.”  
  
“You’re right, obviously he was an idiot,” Tandred replied, toasting her.  
  
“Damned right,” Jaina said, and then sighed. “I followed Thrall’s lead but I warned him that the best I could do was give him a containment device to entrap Grom temporarily. I couldn’t go with him, I was too busy inventing a ritual to cleanse the demonic taint.”  
  
“...you  _invented_ \--”  
  
“The shamans helped.” Jaina shrugged. “I don’t fully understand how shamanism functions and I suspect I never will, no more than Thrall will completely understand arcane magic, but we do our best. The spirits  _wanted_  the orcs to be free of this. They helped Thrall when he was destroying the Internment Camps and they helped him then too. We recovered as many Warsong as we could and cleansed them, though we started with Grom. He apologized for his folly.”  
  
“He’d better have,” Tandred snorted. “Thrall accepted it, just like that?”  
  
“Thrall loved him,” Jaina replied. “He was an idiot, but sometimes that doesn’t matter. You love your siblings despite their faults, sometimes because of them.”  
  
“Sometimes you do,” Tandred agreed, then frowned. “You said the demons dealt with the orcs before, is that why..?”  
  
“Yes, though Thrall rejected the demons entirely, and the orcs followed his lead for the most part. He thought it made the orcs weaker and more vulnerable, not stronger. It was the cause of the Lethargy, in the end. The demons made the orcs stronger temporarily, until they stopped doing what the demons wanted. Then they wound up weak, listless, sick, helpless.”  
  
“... the Lethargy,” Tandred murmured. “And none of us knew, or guessed.”  
  
“Not entirely true, Antonidas suspected and was putting forth effort and study… but not many wanted to help the orcs. Not then.”  
  
“You did. You wanted to help them.”  
  
“I did, though that first cleansing was extremely exhausting,” Jaina admitted, remembering it, and what came next. “I knew that Grom would be the worst, and they had much to discuss… they ran off to confront Mannoroth while I was resting.”  
  
“With their army?” Tandred asked, though from the way he asked the question, he seemed to have guessed the answer.  
  
“No,” Jaina replied, frustration seeping into her tone even now. “I told them to wait for me, for the work to be done and for us to have a plan… and of course, the moment my back was turned they both ran off, just the pair of them. From what Thrall remembers of the battle, which he admits isn’t much, Mannoroth was nearly impervious to traditional attacks. He mocked them, and threw Thrall into a wall. When it was over… Grom had driven his axe into Mannoroth’s chest, and the resulting explosion all but killed him. The fire cleansed the last of the demonic taint, what I couldn’t reach because… it wasn’t enough just to stop the influence. They had to break the contract, to rise up against their tyrant. Grom died, and the orcs were freed.”  
  
“That’s good,” Tandred said, and added, “that they’re free, not that Hellscream was immolated. They fought back.”  
  
“He shouldn’t have had to!” Jaina cried, and anger welled within, bringing up old frustration and hurt. “They celebrated his death as a hero, but if I’d just been there, I could have saved him too. I could have helped them! The demons destroyed so much, Quel’thalas and Dalaran and Lordaeron. I’m not a child to be sheltered and coddled.”  
  
“You realize neither are they, don’t you?” Tandred asked, and Jaina fell silent. “Some people need to do things on their own. You can’t live their lives for them, or spare them from their mistakes. It’s hard, but you have to accept that people have their pride.”  
  
“Pride that costs lives is stupid,” Jaina snapped back. “It’s wasteful and unnecessary and inefficient and  _illogical_ \--”  
  
“Who are you really angry at, Jaina? Grom Hellscream? Your… friend, the Warchief?” Tandred looked over at her, even as Jaina’s mouth snapped shut. “Tell me.”  
  
Jaina closed her eyes and inhaled. She toyed with her mug for a moment before opening her eyes again to meet his gaze. “A lot of people, but mostly… Da. I wish I didn’t feel angry, because I regret so much… and the waste of it all makes me weep.”  
  
“What really happened, Sunfish?” Tandred asked, his voice soft as he used her childhood nickname. “What went wrong?”


	5. Late Winter, Year 27/Late Autumn, Year 26

Jaina collected her thoughts slowly, gathering them like her power.  _It’s not as though I didn’t spend all too long dwelling on it, and still do when things are too quiet, but…_  “We fought the demons at Hyjal, as I said. We weren’t sure if we’d survive, but we did. Then we had to find a place to live. Hyjal had once been the primary city for the elves, they moved more fully into Ashenvale to contemplate their mortality and mend what had been broken. Thrall and I moved south to different places that weren’t occupied. I tracked down the most powerful unoccupied ley nexus in Kalimdor and built my city on top of it. It was a small island and we had to dredge up land from the sea to make it bigger and more suited to our purposes. That was tricky on its own. Magic helps.”  
  
“I don’t doubt it… and I shouldn’t be surprised you wanted an island kingdom by the sea… and that you’d live under no one’s rule but your own.” Tandred took a long drink from his mug and made a face. “It’s cold.”  
  
“You’ll survive,” Jaina chided him, and thought back. “Thrall picked land further south, though also along the coast. It’s hot and dry there, but the land is healthy and strong, the soil rich and red. I named my island Theramore, and he named his land Durotar, after his father Durotan.”  
  
Tandred gave her a look, and she returned one, drinking her own cooling tea. “Does anyone realize you named your island ‘This Land’ in Old Arathi?”  
  
“If they have, I haven’t been called on it yet.” She smiled proudly. “But it’s a good city, and a good island. I was able to confirm my own theories about pre-planning cities and building them along specific lines. Protection spells can be vastly expanded when they’re woven into the very fabric of the land.”  
  
Tandred whistled softly. “You don’t think small, Sunfish.”  
  
“No, and if anything, I’m going to put more work into expanding the wards.” Jaina balanced her mug between her knees and tugged back the left sleeve of her bathing robe, revealing a long, twining strand of blue and purple beads. “These are the physical representations of the arcane wards. I’ll be able to feel them if something happens here, but I can only manipulate the wards directly while I’m inside them. It’s limiting, but necessary. I can draw on the ley nexus directly too.”  
  
“Is that dangerous?” Tandred asked, frowning. “It sounds dangerous.”  
  
“Life is risk,” Jaina said firmly. Tandred rolled his eyes, and she ignored him. “If I may continue… Thrall visited Theramore to ask the blessing of the spirits, and when he broke ground for Orgrimmar, I visited him. He made me make a speech.” She made a face.  
  
“You poor thing,” Tandred murmured. “Orgrimmar?”  
  
“They named their city after Orgrim Doomhammer, who had been Thrall’s mentor before he was killed fighting to free people from the Camps. Thrall was his chosen successor. We spent so much time busy, we were both building cities. I was experimenting with something new, but I’d designs to call up, and magic to help. Thrall’s people did all of their work by hand, and they needed the goblins to teach them how to build a city in the first place, though Gazlowe is very competent.”  
  
“I’m surprised they didn’t know themselves,” Tandred noted, frowning. “I suppose they built none here, but on Draenor…”  
  
“Draenor was a wasteland by the time they left, and even before that, resources were so scarce that living in one place, drawing constantly from the land, and hoping to draw in enough from farms would have killed them.” Jaina toyed with her sleeve and released it, reaching for her mug again. “Thrall said it was reading about cities that made him want one, and more… he wanted his people united, not split off by clan, especially with so many not even sure which clan they were from. The Camp years were brutal to them, and cruel.”  
  
“The last part may be obvious, but how do you know about the rest?” Tandred asked, and Jaina raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Well, I asked, and Thrall told me of it. His clan remembers, and many of the elders that survived. He has a… source he didn’t name that he said granted him a much less flattering impression of Draenor than Grom or Orgrim ever did, but he needed to hear it, I think.”  
  
“Did he not tell you who, or do you not know?” Tandred asked, and Jaina smiled briefly.  
  
“I have theories, but I need more data. In any case, I was busy, building, in meetings, signing trade agreements and treaties between my own forces, the Horde, and the Kaldorei leaders, who had to be placated in some ways, and were intensely grateful in others. We’d saved their lands, and even though I was a mage, and Thrall was an orc, they respected us, and we started changing their opinions with our own attitudes. Positive representation helps.”  
  
“I’d imagine so,” Tandred mused, and then tensed. “So when did…”  
  
“It was during the Late Autumn, I… didn’t know, not at first.” Jaina looked down, and the smile drained from her. “Da may have come looking for me, but he found the orcs first, and immediately planned to attack them.”  
  
“Is this something you know, or something Thrall told you?”  
  
“It’s what Thrall’s agents told me when they showed up on my very doorstep, bearing word from Thrall himself. His agents -- Rexxar, and Rokhan -- had been sent to investigate a disturbance regarding some of the native animals. Thunderlizards. It turned out to be caused by humans gathering lumber in Durotar, which is forbidden by the treaties Thrall and I signed.”  
  
“...and then they killed them,” Tandred remarked, cynicism tinging his words, and Jaina nudged him with her foot.  
  
“They remained completely untouched, attacking intruders is forbidden as well,” Jaina replied sternly. “Rexxar brought the information to Thrall who said they should investigate further. Rexxar and his companions found slaughtered orc settlements along the coast.” Jaina’s voice shook with anger, and she gripped her mug more tightly. “Finally, even as Thrall was advised to send riders out to slaughter the humans, the humans sent an ambassador to ‘parley’ with him… and it was an ambush, though Thrall didn’t attend personally. Rexxar did, and is in fact very difficult to ambush.”  
  
“Did you confirm any of this?” Tandred asked, his voice low, angry, and afraid. “Before you took an orc’s word over your kin?”  
  
“I had testimony from Rexxar, who was there personally for the attempted assassination,” Jaina retorted, her eyes flashing. “If I could continue?” Tandred muttered indistinctly, but nodded. “Thrall was determined to find answers as to what was going on, so he sent Rexxar and his companions to me with a letter, asking what had happened.”  
  
“So, you’re telling me that in the face of finding out that treaties had been violated, people had been killed, and a diplomatic meeting was used as an excuse for an ambush, Thrall’s response was to write you a  _note_?” Tandred asked, disbelieving. “You expect me to believe you?”  
  
“It was a strongly worded note,” Jaina replied, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. “He seemed quite upset.”  
  
“This is completely ridiculous,” Tandred replied, rolling his eyes. Jaina shot her brother a dark look, but continued.  
  
“Needless to say, I was surprised when they arrived, and more surprised to learn that there were other humans in Kalimdor at all, much less in Dustwallow Marsh,” Jaina said, and her gaze grew distant. “To get to me, they’d needed to destroy the defenses of the camped forces, and by the time I arrived, they’d been attacked by naga and taken as prisoners.”  
  
“Naga are those fish creatures we fought earlier, correct?” Tandred asked, frowning again. Jaina nodded.  
  
“They are, and they used to be elves by all reports. I suspect that they’ve been spotted on and off for centuries by sailors, thus leading to the creation of mermaid mythology, though I’d imagine the fact that they have been described as more human looking is related to an unwillingness to admit they’d been seduced by snake women.”  
  
“They do seem to be far less attractive than pretty girls with fishtails,” Tandred admitted, and under the blanket, Jaina poked him with a toe. Tandred poked the sole of her foot in reply.  
  
“In any case, I followed the trail left by the naga and found where they’d kept the survivors. One of them recognized me, asking how I was there at all, and… I realized what was happening too late. I teleported back to Theramore as fast as I could, but…” Jaina shook her head. “Da sailed the  _Azure Shards_  right up to harbour, and of course, no one stopped him or questioned it. He spotted Rexxar and the others and tried to attack them. I distracted him so they could escape.”  
  
Tandred’s expression was dark and angry. “Then what happened?”  
  
Jaina’s eyes squeezed closed as she remembered.  
  
~ * ~  
  
“Why in the name of all the dark hells are there ogres in this city?” Daelin Proudmoore, Grand Admiral of Kul Tiras, demanded. He stood on the docks of Theramore Harbour, sea-green eyes squinted against the light rain that rolled from the brim of his tricorn hat and missed his brown and grey salted hair.  
  
Jaina, her robes still crusted with naga ichor from the battle she’d just hurried from, tried not to scream. “Rexxar is a half-ogre, actually, one of the Mok’Nathal. Their history as a people is fascinating--”  
  
“Girl, I don’t need to know their family trees to shoot them,” her father said shortly. “Why’d you let them run? I had them in my sights. Did you know they destroyed all the Marsh defenses?”  
  
“I did, Da,” Jaina said, taking a breath. “I let them go because they’re agents of my ally, Warchief Thrall. You had no right to attack them, not here.”  
  
“Pull the other one,” Daelin said, disbelieving. “They’re damned orcs, and trolls too, and  _bears_ , by the look of them. They’re starting up the Horde again, and if they aren’t stopped here, they’ll bowl right over the Eastern Kingdoms.”  
  
“They have reassembled the Horde, but things are different now!” Jaina’s voice rose above the barked orders of sailors, and for a moment, all was silent as she added, “They’re not a danger to you or anyone else. Call off the attack.”  
  
“Are you daft?” Daelin demanded. “They’re orcs, girl. I know you’ve spent years with your head in the books, but I thought I’d raised you practical.” Her father began to pace, even as she bristled at his tone and his question. “I hate to say it, but Genn might have had the right idea, all those years ago. Terenas was too soft on ‘em, keeping them alive. They broke out of the Camps, you know, and rampaged through Hillsbrad killin’ and burnin’ ‘til they stole ships to go to Kalimdor. Innocent people died to them.”  
  
“I’m just going to assume you’ve never actually met Aedelas Blackmoore or most of those prison guards if you’re calling them innocent,” Jaina fired back, and her father stopped in mid-stride. “I can’t condone genocide, Da. I won’t.”  
  
“Did y’know that Lordaeron has fallen,” Daelin demanded. “That Terenas and most of the court is dead, the city in ruins?”  
  
“I did, yes,” Jaina said. “But I don’t--”  
  
“Then did y’know about Dalaran and Quel’thalas?”  
  
Jaina sucked in a breath, and it was like being stabbed straight in the gut. Reflexively, she put a hand over her stomach.  _No, that’s over with. The pain’s gone now._    
  
“They’re dead. Your teacher, Antonidas. The elven king, Anasterian. Kelnar.” His voice caught, broke. Jaina’s heart ached. “Far too many dead and gone.”  
  
“I didn’t know the details of the Scourge rampage, but I grieve for all the fallen,” Jaina replied, her voice rough with anguish.  _He didn’t mention Finn or Kael, maybe they made it. Kylian? His father?_  “That doesn’t change anything here, though.”  
  
“Doesn’t it?” Daelin snapped. “I let you have the fleet because you said you needed it to protect people, an’ what protecting have you actually done? You’re sittin’ here, defending orcs instead of protecting your family and your friends. How? Why?”  
  
A shape; huge, violet and angry, looming overhead. She mocked it, of course she did. Nothing stands against a Proudmoore. Nothing and no one, even when doing the standing itself was suicide.  
  
“I  _was_  protecting them. Da, when I came here it wasn’t just looking for an artifact or a tome… it was to stand against the greatest evil imaginable. It was to protect people and places… to protect Azeroth itself. It took everything we had. People, supplies, even the ships were partially disassembled because it didn’t matter if we couldn’t sail back if we were going to die at Hyjal.” Jaina’s voice cracked as memory of victory was blurred by fever and pain. “You can’t fully understand the cost. We stayed in Kalimdor because leaving would have cost us more, needless lives, and many of these people had their homes destroyed. Theramore  _is_  their home now, their safe haven.”  
  
Daelin shook his head in denial, and anger welled up inside Jaina at his willfulness. “By stayin’ here, so near to the orcs, your people are in more danger. I can’t deny that if you’ve really lost so much, it’ll be too difficult to bring people back, but I’ve got enough men to help you fight them.”  
  
“Have you heard nothing I’ve said?!” Jaina cried. “I don’t need you to defend me because there’s nothing to defend against! The Horde doesn’t want to fight,  _Thrall_  doesn’t want to fight!”  
  
The wind picked up, and the rain, already cold, became icy, droplets hardening and freezing into a thousand tiny needles as Daelin’s expression twisted in disbelief and anger. “This goes beyond the pale, sprog. Negligence, going over to the enemy… I can’t forgive this easily.”  
  
“I’ve never been a traitor in my life,” Jaina hissed, her fists clenching. “Not when Arthas begged me to help him slaughter his own people, not when Kael decided it was  _my_  fault that Arthas burned Stratholme. I  _know_  Thrall, we’re friends. He wants this peace just as much as I do, and he’s fought just as hard for his home. I can’t help you, Da, and moreover, I won’t.”  
  
“You’re naive, girl,” Daelin replied, and Jaina saw no understanding in her father’s face. No concession, no compromise. Nothing but the anger and hate that had been there from the moment he’d seen green flesh. Her heart sank. “If you won’t help me, then I’ll just defend your city m’self.” Daelin put his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply.  
  
“No,  _no_.” The denial spilled from Jaina’s lips as the forces previously restricted to the ships marched from them, dozens and dozens -- hundreds -- of Tiran uniforms flooding over the docks as marines moved forward. One of the officers went to Daelin for orders.  
  
Jaina barely heard them, but she did hear the result: Theran citizens were confined to their homes for their own safety. War was coming, and they needed to be safe.  
  
More than anything, Jaina wanted to scream.  
  
~ * ~  
  
“Jaina, I--”  
  
“He treated me like a child,” Jaina said, her voice strained, though she held back tears. She’d cried all too much during that first Winter, and she wouldn’t do it a second time. “He stomped all over my sovereignty as though it were a sand castle. He was using my home…  _my home_  for a war that didn’t need to be fought. He just wouldn’t listen.”  
  
Tandred, wordless, gripped Jaina’s foot in comfort and sympathy. She took a breath, and continued, staring into the dregs of her tea.  
  
“I couldn’t fight him. I couldn’t take up arms against Da, but I couldn’t support him either. I couldn’t do nothing. I remembered that story about Derek and the slavers, and what he decided to do in a bad spot.”  
  
“There’s no good that comes from breaking rules because you can, but there’s some in learning what rules are worth breaking,” Tandred murmured, and Jaina nodded.  
  
“Once I’d decided, there was only one thing I could do after that.”  
  
“What was it?” Tandred asked softly. “What did you decide to do?”  
  
~ * ~  
  
“Thrall, we need to speak,” Jaina said, trying to keep her voice soft. All around her, trolls, some weeping, others painfully silent, were filing past, escorted by Kor’kron and other Horde warriors. She could see Rexxar, his large, broad features stoic to the point of grimness; Rokhan, angry and muttering; and Chen, his muzzle wrinkled into a frown that didn’t suit the usually merry Pandaren.  
  
“Of course, Jaina,” Thrall said, and she could see that his smile was strained, and her heart sank. He beckoned to Cairne, who strode over, every two or three steps punctuated by the booming of distant cannons as her father’s fleet was busy destroying the Darkspear’s second home.  
  
Jaina had liked the Echo Isles, and grieved the loss of each hut as though it were her own tower being demolished by uncaring forces. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. How bad were the casualties?”  
  
“Not as bad as they could have been,” Thrall replied wearily, and let the  _Doomhammer_  rest on one broad shoulder. “Vol’jin worked powerful magic, but he’s exhausted now, and I can’t ask another to do the same. We have nothing to fight the human fleets. We are not sailors, as you know.”  
  
_Is he accusing-- no, it’s true. Orcs can’t sail worth a damn and most of them are afraid of the ocean itself._  “Those aren’t Theran ships, Thrall, I promise you… but the truth is worse. That’s my father’s fleet out there, filled with trained Tiran marines.”  
  
“Rexxar said you knew nothing of the attacks… I didn’t think you did, Jaina. I knew you wouldn’t do this.” Thrall’s features relaxed into a small, but real, smile. “But thank you for the warning.”  
  
“No, it’s worse than that,” Jaina said. “He’s taken Theramore, he’s using it as a… command post. He’s got the city under martial law and he won’t  _listen_  to me. He’s angry and he’s stubborn and he won’t settle for anything less than annihilation.”  
  
“Like young Grom, once,” Cairne murmured, even as Thrall stared at her in shocked disbelief. “Was the war of old so bad?”  
  
“My father lost much,” Jaina replied. “He’s been irreparably damaged by war.”  
  
“Murdering my people will not repair that damage,” Thrall said, a hint of a growl to his tone. “No more than Grom killing humans was the appropriate cure for his bloodlust.”  
  
“I know that,” Jaina said, and there was desperation in her voice, fear and despair. “Thrall, he’s my  _father_ , I love him, but not for this. I can’t fight him, I don’t have the stomach for it, or frankly the forces.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”  
  
Thrall’s shoulders slumped briefly, and Jaina watched as his expression changed a half-dozen times. “Then we have to, Jaina. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Not without ships,” Jaina murmured, the words slipping out. “Theramore’s an island, and he has a third of the fleet, including his own flagship. Unless the spirits…”  
  
“Not without terrible cost,” Thrall said bleakly. “Or a lot of luck.”  
  
_There must be something…_  Jaina thought, and it hit her, even as it struck like a blow. “You don’t need to own ships. You just need to find someone else who does. I.... I have an idea, but it may cost you.”  
  
“It can’t cost more than losing everything we’ve built in a day,” Thrall said. “Please, tell me.”  
  
“The goblins,” Jaina began. “They don’t just have engineers and lumberjacks. They have mercenary companies for hire, including ships, with captain and crew if you can pay for it. I’ll go to them and make arrangements now. If you’ll pay them, I’ll make sure they aren’t charging you unfairly. I might as well use what influence I can for good.”  
  
“We’ve friends among the goblins,” Thrall said. “They’ll surely listen without your help.” Jaina shook her head.  
  
“Friendship and business are two entirely different things,” she replied. “I’ll go to Ratchet and have them draw up contracts, then you can sign them and arrange payment.. It will be as fair as I can make it, I promise.”  
  
“Jaina…” Thrall’s voice was soft, and filled with so much compassion that it made her heart ache. “These goblins… they know you through your family, don’t they?”  
  
“My father’s family, yes,” Jaina replied steadily. “The Steamwheedle and the Proudmoores have long held a close working relationship but… that doesn’t mean that they won’t do what they think they have to.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Jaina, this… isn’t your fault.” Thrall’s eyes, blue as the skies of Durotar on a clear day, searched her expression. “You’re doing what you can and I thank you for that. For my sake, and that of my people.”  
  
“I haven’t got the contracts yet,” Jaina murmured, trying not to feel numb. “Don’t thank me when there’s still a war to be fought.”  
  
~ * ~  
  
Tandred was silent, and still. Anger, disbelief, and despair flickered across his expression. Jaina watched him, and even as her heart ached, she refused to lie or spare herself.  
  
“It took some work, but the goblins agreed to do it at cost. Thrall’s hired mercenaries helped drive off the fleet and ran the blockade Da had put up around Theramore. They wouldn’t engage in ship to ship combat, not directly with Tiran forces, but they didn’t have to. Thrall’s intention was to confront Da directly, to make him see. With people forced into their homes already, I used my magic to protect them from fire or stray cannon-shot or arrows. I didn’t want there to be… accidents.”  
  
“You let the orcs invade your own home.”  
  
“Da was the invader!” Jaina insisted. “Don’t be like him, please, Tandred. Just… listen.”  
  
~ * ~  
  
It felt as though the whole world were weeping with her: the wind blew through the courtyard of Theramore Keep, carrying with it salt and rain. In her arms, she could feel her father’s shaking as he tried to reach for his gun.  
  
Rexxar loomed overhead, watching in case her father attacked again. The battle had been brief but intense, with Thrall’s intent to negotiate interrupted by Admiral Proudmoore’s desire to fight. Her father had stood little chance, though she’d pleaded with him to the last.  
  
Now she was here, feeling the very life leak from him and there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t remember when she’d started crying, but she wept now, watching his face go slack and still.  
  
“Da, why?” she whispered, heart and voice both broken by grief. “Why didn’t you listen to me?” He didn’t even look at her as he died, just towards his weapon. She shook, with anguish, with frustration.  _Is it not enough for you to fall? Do you have to be so cursed stubborn, right to the end? Is there no lesson at death’s door, no enlightenment before Mother Ocean takes you? Why, Da? Why did you have to do this?_  
  
She missed what Thrall was saying, his voice gentle in ways that tore the rents in her soul wider. The next thing he said was firmer. “The Horde will leave Theramore now, leaving you to clean up your dead, to rebuild. We will never return again. You need never fear invasion. It’s over.”  
  
There seemed to be nothing to say to that, and she simply returned to staring at her father, and one by one, the Horde forces left. Shakily, she closed her father’s eyes, and as she glanced up, one of the Kor’Kron had fallen into step beside Thrall. She heard nothing over wind and rain, but whatever it was made Thrall angry.  
  
_I wonder who that is?_  she thought absently, and looked down at her father again, and curiosity gave way to grief once more.  
  
~ * ~  
  
“Jaina…”  
  
“The days after that were a blur,” Jaina said softly, as if he hadn’t spoken. “We had to clean up the dead… though it’s not as bad as it could have been. My magic did its job, protecting the homes we’d built, but there was still… other battle damage. Still bodies. That was the first time I’d used the ash-water since Hyjal. Every name was recorded, every person had their own grave. I had to build a specific mausoleum for the Tiran dead. I couldn’t… put them in the war memorial.”  
  
“And Da?” Tandred asked, his voice choked. “Did you use your ash-water on him?”  
  
“No,” Jaina whispered. “I… I couldn’t. From Father Sky and Mother Ocean we come, and to Them we return. I had pipers, and one of our ships instead of his, but we wrapped him in his standard and sent him back to Her.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Jaina wiped at her eyes. “I had company for a week or two before they left on the tide, then I had to… to go back to business as usual. Thrall and I didn’t speak for some time after that day. I believed that things had been broken between us. Certainly, there were those who looked to the orcs with more suspicion now, more… distrust. The orcs likely felt the same about us. That Winter, many of the veteran orc warriors died.”  
  
“Died? Why? Retaliation?”  
  
“Depression. Traumatic stress related to their past actions. When they had still been afflicted by the demon blood, it carried them through everything. Even injury, even remorse. With the Lethargy, they remembered little and were barely able to function. A contrast between the manic and the depressive. With the haze cleared, they… remembered, and they were so, so sorry.”  
  
“I’ve heard of such things before,” Tandred said. “Some sailors, some soldiers. They think on what they’ve done, what they see and experience, and it breaks them utterly. Did they have no healers to advise them and treat them?”  
  
“The warriors were too ashamed to speak of it,” Jaina replied. “Thrall didn’t know… he’s so young, and many of his mentors simply wouldn’t speak of it. We discussed it later, but at the time… he thought there was a serial killer loose in Orgrimmar, another tragedy to be piled on top of others. Once he knew, there was more he could do. Shamans to advise people and heal their souls. Shamanism has long been the heart of orc culture, and the first sign of corruption is rejecting their principles.”  
  
“I didn’t think you were much for religion,” Tandred noted, and Jaina quirked a smile.  
  
“It’s a fascinating field of study, and one I've spent a great deal of time on.” Jaina’s smile faltered, and she sighed. “But there’s more, and… I thought you did it on purpose, as retaliation, as punishment, but if you really didn’t know…”  
  
“Did what?” Tandred asked. “What happened after that?”  
  
Jaina took a deep breath, and stared into the remains of her tea. “Three weeks after my previous guest had left, I met Jonathan.”


	6. Early Winter, Year 26

Jaina stared at the report before her and saw none of it. The words crawled and scurried from the page, and she blinked rapidly, only to find her eyes hurt, itchy, red, and dry.  
  
 _I’ve only cried an hour today,_  Jaina thought numbly.  _How can they still hurt so much?_  
  
“That one is news that the harbour dredging is complete, and the next stage is progressing nicely.” Jaina looked up, blinking again. At the door stood a human woman, only a few of years younger than Jaina herself. She wore a dove-grey dress, cut simply, and was holding a stack of papers in her arms. Her hair was long and black, twisted back in a half plait, and her eyes were bright, sparkling green.  
  
“Ariana,” Jaina said, shaking her head. “I”m sorry, I was just thinking. Are those more reports?”  
  
“They are,” her newly appointed chamberlain replied. “Reports from the repairs on the walls and harbour, the status of the remaining Tiran forces, and… you have a guest.”  
  
“A… guest?” Jaina’s stomach twisted with discomfort. “Was I expecting one?”  _The last unexpected guest was…_  
  
“No, but I believe you’ll appreciate what I have to say,” said a voice from behind Ariana, and Jaina blinked again, sitting up. It was a man’s voice, his accent familiar in the way a well-loved pair of slippers was, and she felt herself glide into it. “May I come in?”  
  
“Yes, please,” Jaina said, and rose. “Thank you, Ariana. Leave the reports.”  
  
The younger woman stepped into her office and set down the stack of reports on Jaina’s desk, and stepped aside to let the man in. Jaina’s eyes widened slightly. He was tall and well-proportioned, muscular without being obscene and clearly used to working with his hands. His skin was nut-brown from working in the sun, though he was well dressed in a uniform, the insignias carefully removed and not replaced. His eyes were brandy-brown and sparkling and his hair a few shades darker but still brown instead of Ariana’s true black.  
  
The door made a soft noise as Ariana departed, leaving the pair of them to speak.  
  
 _No green, no blue, no gold or black,_  Jaina reflected, slightly dazed.  _Just fine._  “I am Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Archmage of the Kirin Tor and ruler of the Theramore League. Who might you be?”  
  
The man saluted sharply, and Jaina contained a sigh at the way his jacket tugged across his chest. “My name is Jonathan Taylor.” He smiled, and then let it fade. “Lieutenant, or should I say, former-lieutenant of the Third Tiran Fleet Ship  _Foam Queen_. I wanted to speak to you directly.”  
  
 _Former…_  Jaina nodded, and gestured. “Please, sit.” Jonathan sat, and Jaina took her own seat, folding her hands and resting them on her desk. “How may I help you?”  
  
“It’s more what I can do for you, Lady Proudmoore,” he replied, and smiled at her. Warmth flooded her, and she recalled that it had been some time since she’d seen such a thing from such welcoming features, and she smiled in return. “You probably know, but all the former crew from the Fleet have fled north to Tiragarde Keep, just on the coast. We set up there as a temporary base of operations, and now…” He spread his hands, and she drew in a sharp breath.  
  
“And now, those who cannot leave stay behind,” Jaina finished. She glanced down at the report on her desk, now joined by so many others, and could only pick out bits and pieces of sentences. “But you say you’re not one of them?”  
  
“No, not at all,” Jonathan said, smiling gently, and she felt herself relax. “In fact, I want to help you get things resolved as much as possible. Clear the air and all. You know, we weren’t given much choice as to what to do. Your late father, Ocean keep him cradled, ordered us to attack the orcs and so we did. Mutiny in a strange land’s not something any man with sense wants to do.”  
  
“No…” Jaina murmured, and her mind raced.  _They won’t speak to me, but if they’ll speak to him… they can go home, or they can try to integrate into Theramore. I might still be able to salvage this, and Thrall will certainly appreciate having far fewer hostile humans on his doorstep._  “Yes, please. Do whatever you can. I want this resolved as peacefully as possible.”  
  
“I would be happy to discuss it at length… perhaps over dinner?” Jonathan raised an eyebrow and smiled, and Jaina felt her stomach flutter.  
  
 _How long has it been… nearly a year, I think, and even that wasn’t what it could have been. Yes, this is… right._  Jaina smiled back warmly. “Certainly over dinner.”  
  
~ * ~  
  
“...and they’re completely intractable!” Jaina finished, her hand shaking briefly as she ran her brush through her long, loose hair. “Did they say nothing about opening negotiations?”  
  
“Do we have to talk politics in bed, love?” Jonathan asked. He lounged on her bed, legs enticingly tangled in sheets and blankets, revealing a long expanse of muscled abdomen, marred by two diagonal cuts, mere inches from one another. “Can’t it wait?”  
  
“Only one of us is still abed,” Jaina reminded him and peered at herself in the mirror, admiring the marks his lips had made on her neck before returning to brushing her hair. “But, Commander Peele--”  
  
“You could solve that, you know,” he purred, and she glanced at him, noticing the way he tugged at the sheets. She smiled at him, even as she felt a shiver of anticipation over her skin.  
  
 _He knows just what to do,_  Jaina thought, as memories of his fingers and lips -- never entirely far away -- flooded back. “I have  _work_  to do.”  
  
“You know your staff can handle most of the paperwork, why not let them?” Jonathan countered. “You cluck like a hen.”  
  
“I do not,” Jaina murmured, setting down the brush and turning to him. She gave him a challenging look, and he grinned. “I--” She felt a shiver cross her bare spine and looked around.  _Is there a draft? That was so odd…_  Tucked under her brush was a folded note.  _How did I miss this?_  
  
Jaina picked up the note, rested her bare behind against the vanity table, and began to read. [To Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Warchief Thrall of the Horde and the people of Orgrimmar send their greetings!] Her lips curved in a soft smile, and a sensation not wholly unlike the one she felt when Jonathan smiled at her went through her.  _Stop that, he’s looking for a mate, and you have a lover now._  [As we approach the longest and coldest night of the year, I am reminded of a time when I lived in a much, much colder place. It was not always the happiest time, but I do remember the celebration of Winter Veil with a great deal of fondness. I hope that you remember it similarly. My people have never celebrated Winter Veil properly and I hope to change that, starting this year and continuing as long as we live and thrive. I would like to invite you, who helped make our prosperity possible, to Orgrimmar to celebrate Winter Veil with us. Please reply when you can. Yours Sincerely, Thrall.]  
  
“What is it?” Jonathan asked, and she found that he had left bed, and peered over her shoulder. “That’s damned chicken scratch, I don’t see how you can read it.”  
  
“He has a hard time grasping a stylus,” Jaina murmured. “It’s not that hard to read. I’m being invited to Winter Veil in Orgrimmar. I’d forgotten it was coming up, it’s… been a long year.”  
  
“Are you seriously thinking of going? Jonathan asked, leaning in to kiss her neck, and she pulled away slightly. “They’re orcs.”  
  
“They’re my allies,” Jaina reminded him. “Of course I’m going… oh, I used to love Winter Veil. Food and festivities, singing… dancing.” She sighed softly. “I miss dancing so much.”  
  
“Privilege of the noble, then,” Jonathan muttered. “I’ve not much use for dancing.”  
  
“I’m sure I’ll find plenty of partners that do want to dance,” Jaina pointed out. She pushed herself from her perch and walked over to retrieve her robes, tucking the note into one of the sleeves. “I’m sure there will be plenty more for us to do.”  
  
“For you, maybe,” Jonathan said, and stretched. “I think I’ll take a pass on visiting the orc city.”  
  
“Horde city,” Jaina reminded him. “There’s more to the Horde than orcs. I had hoped…”  
  
“The invite’s for the Lady of Theramore, not for the likes of me.” Jonathan’s tone held a hint of bitterness to it. “You didn’t tell him?”  
  
“I don’t need to share my private business with all and sundry,” Jaina replied, anger tinging her words. “I’ll tell him when the time is right.”  
  
“He didn’t seem to have a problem telling you about his private business,” Jonathan noted. “Going on about wanting a mate…”  
  
“He needed my advice, that’s different,” Jaina said firmly. “In any case, if you don’t want to go to Orgrimmar for Winter Veil, I’ll go by myself. I might even stay over a night or two.”  
  
“Have fun with your orcs,” Jonathan said. “Are we going back to bed or what?”  
  
"It's a good thing I'd been planning to give Thrall a gift anyway, I just need to make sure it will be ready for Winter Veil," Jaina said. “I’ll send my reply afterwards. I’m sure you can be up and about in your own time.”  
  
Jaina felt another little gust of cold air, and as she finished dressing, she missed the dark look on her lover’s face at her dismissal.  
  
~ * ~  
  
"...and then Grom storms out of his tent -- naked, naturally, because he'd been with someone -- and demands to know who keeps making that racket."  
  
"Oh, no," Jaina said in between giggles, the fork she held quivering in mid-air, food forgotten. "What did you say?"  
  
"We told him we were surprised he could hear us over himself," Thrall concluded, chuckling. "He thought it was funny too... eventually. After he'd ducked me under an icy waterfall. It's not as if I'd never done it before, but then I was mostly unclothed."  
  
"You must have been a sight..." Jaina said. "Though if we're talking about awkward, there was one time, during transmutation, when we were supposed to be learning the Polymorph spell and someone managed to get a hold of a duck--"  
  
“Warchief.”  
  
Jaina and Thrall both looked up at the Kor’Kron guard who spoke, and Jaina felt a brief chill. The guard was a woman, her voice low and a bit smoother than she’d come to expect from orcs, but managed to put a great deal of emotion into a single word.  _She seems… familiar somehow. I wonder why?_  
  
“There’s an emergency,” the Kor’Kron continued. “We need you.”  
  
 _An emergency?_  She made to rise before even thinking.  _This isn’t Theramore, I can’t just stick my nose in._  "Oh dear, what's wrong? Do you need my help?"  
  
"No, I can take care of it," Thrall replied quickly. "I have some scrolls on elementals I intended you to look over, would you do that while you wait? This may take some time, so please feel free to keep eating."  
  
"Of course," Jaina said, and returned to her seat.  _An emergency… what could be happening tonight of all nights?_  Thrall and the guard departed swiftly, and Jaina stared after them.  _Oh… he’s had that guard in his retinue since…_  The thought turned the next mouthful, and the next, to ash.  
  
Her food felt bland on her tongue without laughter, and combined with the memories of her father’s death pushing at her mind, she lost her appetite entirely.  _Let’s see about those scrolls._  
  
Thrall’s rooms were a little plain to those not accustomed to orc decorating, and lacked the ostentatiousness of those who remembered the orcs of old. The chamber where they’d eaten was a smaller, side chamber, meant for private, intimate meetings and study. Jaina could imagine that Thrall had courted any number of orc women in it, and pushed back a feeling of wistfulness at it.  
  
 _It’s not as if you haven’t been courted plenty, and Thrall is still a bit new to this,_  she insisted.  _It’s a wonder he didn’t have someone here for Winter Veil, or he might be between courtships. I know he worries about such things._  
  
Courtship always led to memories, of Arthas and of Kael. Jonathan had been more direct, and she appreciated that.  _Arthas was a bit direct, but so wrapped in protocol I could never forget what he was, and what he would be, and Kael…_  She closed her eyes.  _I can’t love someone who wants to sit me in a corner, only to be trotted out in secret. I won’t live like that, I can’t. Discretion is one thing, being someone’s shameful little mistress is very much another._  
  
Jaina shook her head, and pushed back the feeling.  _I have a lover of my own now, and a dear friend who puts a whole city’s worth of effort into making sure I’m happy. I don’t need either of them, ever._  Jaina drifted into Thrall’s bedroom, and looked around. She couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight of it.  
  
Here were all of the gifts Thrall had received, big and small, arranged on his own vanity table, barely leaving room for the combs and oils he used to care for his hair. Wreaths and bobbles concealed a handful of spare leather ties meant to replace those broken or lost during periods of heavy activity.  _I’ll have to make some suggestions about shelves, or even boxes,_  she thought idly, and cast about, looking for the scrolls in question. These she found laying on Thrall’s bed atop the bright blue and white blanket she’d given him last night.  
  
 _He seemed to like it, and I didn’t intend for him to dream of his parents, but if he truly did… how can I be sorry?_  she mused as she walked over to the bed and sat down, opening one of the scrolls. Written orcish was a little tricky for her yet, but she could puzzle out the intent if not the exact words.  _Interactions between shamans and elementals, fascinating._  
  
Jaina shifted as she read, and then considered.  _If he’s gone for some time, I don’t see why he’d mind…_  She gathered up both scrolls, kicked off her shoes, and climbed into Thrall’s bed, tucking the blanket around her legs and ankles to keep her feet warm. She settled back and summoned a light to help her read better, and worked through each scroll.  _I should ask to borrow these so I can make notes. Though, that reminds me of an idea I’ve had…_  
  
She read the scrolls over again, and then glanced to the side. Sitting on a low table was a book, no different than she might own, marked with a scrap of leather.  _Ooh, what’s he reading? History, perhaps, or a biography?_  Jaina set the scrolls aside carefully and picked up the book, opening it at the marker. She blinked, and then laughed.  _Pirates? Adventure? Well, that’s wonderful too._  
  
She flipped to the start of the book and began to read, her posture slowly shifting to curl up, propping the book against a pillow while she read avidly.  _I don’t think I have this one either…_  
  
So lost was she in the book that she didn’t hear Thrall enter at first, his steps shuffling and quiet instead of heavy with confidence, and he cleared his throat. She looked up at him and studied the expression on his face: he looked grave, and seemed to carry something heavy with him.  
  
"Is everything alright?" she asked softly. Thrall smiled at her, but she felt its hollowness in her bones.  _Oh no, what could have…_  Jaina sat up immediately, setting the book down.  
  
"There's something I need to talk to you about," Thrall said. He retrieved a chair and set it in front of her heavily before sitting, looking her square in the eye. Her heart sank further, and her own smile faded as she looked at him worriedly. "Tonight we received word that the soldiers in Tiragarde Keep were planning an assault on Razor Hill."  
  
"What?!" Jaina cried.  _Thrall wouldn’t lie about this. He couldn’t, not to me. Jonathan gave no hint of this plan, did he not know?!_  "What are they doing? This is Winter Veil, have they no sense of decency left at all, and to what end? Razor Hill is a farming community!"  
  
Jaina saw relief, naked and shining in Thrall’s eyes, but it did little to ease her racing thoughts. He reached out, taking one of her hands in his, though the words he spoke only made her heart ache all the more. "I'm ordering them to be wiped out if it comes to it. There is a possibility that they will try to go to Theramore for sanctuary."  
  
"They'll be criminals, of course, Thrall," she replied, even as she realized that wasn’t the primary problem.  _Anyone that sympathized with the Tiran survivors will likely go to them to offer succor and resources. Jonathan probably still has a good record of who’s likely to sympathize, and then…_  "I won't let them get away with this. Your people... it's just wrong."  
  
"I knew you'd say that," Thrall said, and as she watched, drew his other hand behind her back. She made a soft noise as she saw the familiar bits of green. "I remember what you said about wreaths, so I want you to have this, Jaina, and this promise: I will do whatever I can to preserve peace between our people. I didn't want to have to order the deaths of the Tiragarde forces, but it's the only way either of us will see peace."  
  
"I... Thrall..." she said, and Jaina shook her head slightly. "I can't..."  
  
"Take it, please," Thrall said, his voice intent and urgent. "I believe that you are above reproach, but not everyone does, and not everyone will. This is between the two of us. No matter what happens, we will never be at war."  
  
"Never," she agreed, and let Thrall guide the wreath into her hand, even as it prickled against her skin.  _I must talk to Jonathan about this, I must get this resolved._  "Thrall, I should go back to Theramore. I want to make sure that no word of this was passed between my own forces. If they have, I promise to deal with them." Impulsively, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the soft part of Thrall’s cheek. "The Horde could have no better leader than you."  
  
"Thank you, Jaina," Thrall said, and he sounded relieved, and a little odd, though she had little time to wonder about it.   
  
She stood up, collecting the gifts she’d been given earlier in the day, at a happier, more simple time, and tucked them into her sleeves. She used a kind of point-to-point teleportation that she had mastered during her schooling to send the objects in her sleeves to a location specified for storage and retrieval, though she held on tightly to the wreath, the prickling of the pine leaves reminding her of Thrall’s promise.  _No matter how uncomfortable or difficult, I will never allow myself to forget this moment._  "I've had a wonderful time," Jaina said, and realized she was about to babble.  _Curse it, I’ll just keep going._  "I'm glad your people are learning so much about Winter Veil. There are other holidays, if you want to learn about them. I'd be happy to tell you anything you need to know."  
  
"I'd like that," Thrall said, watching her finish her collection. "Perhaps the next time we meet?"  
  
"That would be wonderful," she replied, though her uneasiness did not waver. If anything, it was only more intense. She slipped her shoes back on, fumbling with them briefly before turning around to give Thrall her best smile. "Goodbye, Thrall. Until the next time."  
  
"Goodbye, Jaina."  
  
Jaina cast her teleportation spell, and from one moment to the next, she went from cooler than usual Orgrimmar to dreary, frigid Theramore. They’d had sleet before she’d left, and now there was rain, mixed heavily with snow. It was an accurate expression of her mood. She set the wreath down on her desk, and left her office.  
  
“Oh!” Ariana said, jumping back to avoid careening into her. “Jaina, you’re back. Happy Winter Veil.”  
  
“Ariana, where’s Jonathan?” Jaina asked, her voice tight with anger. Any attempt at politeness or pleasantness had been shed during the journey, and away from Thrall, she allowed herself to feel more than sorrow. She was angry, and she wanted answers. Now. “I need to talk to him.”  
  
“Well, I know he’s been gone since you left to visit Orgrimmar,” Ariana said slowly, considering. Absently, her chamberlain’s hand went to the medallion at her throat, hidden by her dress from casual view. Only those who knew of it would understand its significance.  
  
 _It was a lovely wedding, and one of the only good things that came from last season,_  Jaina thought. “And he’s not returned?”  
  
“Not yet, to my knowledge… Jaina, what is it?” Ariana studied Jaina’s expression, brow wrinkled with concern. “What’s happened?”  
  
“Yes, love, what’s all the fuss?” Jonathan called, coming around the corner, coat draped in one hand, tracking mud through the halls. Ariana eyed him with annoyance, but Jaina snapped her fingers, cleaning the mud and rain from him, and along the hall, leaving behind the faintest hint of lemon. “Ah, thanks.”  
  
“Where have you been?” Jaina demanded. “There’s an emergency.”  
  
“Out to Northwatch,” Jonathan replied, studying her expression. “Bringing ‘em some Winter Veil cheer… what happened? Are we under attack?”  
  
“No, the orcs are,” Jaina said, frustration in every word. “The men of Tiragarde decided that Longest Night was the best time to attack Razor Hill.” He met this statement with a blank expression. “It’s a farming community, south of Orgrimmar, not far from Tiragarde Keep. Thrall is sending forces to clear out them out and protect his farmers.”  
  
“Clear them out?” Jonathan said, raising an eyebrow. “Those are Tiran men out there, alone in a strange land--”  
  
“This shouldn’t have happened at all!” Jaina cried, and Ariana opened her mouth to try to interject. “Did you have any idea this was coming? Any at all?”  
  
“No, of course not,” Jonathan said, reaching out to her. Jaina stared at him a moment, and then stepped into his arms, leaning into him. He wrapped his arms around her, running a hand through her hair, and murmured softly. “I knew they were angry, there’d been some unrest of late, but… not this specific time, or day. Please, believe me.”  
  
Jaina shook as grief ran through her. “I do. I do, I just… it shouldn’t be this way. There shouldn’t still be fighting.”  
  
“What do you intend to do?” Jonathan asked quietly after a moment. Jaina took in a shuddering breath, but her voice was firm as she spoke.  
  
“The survivors are not welcome here. They are criminals, bandits and murderers. Anyone who gives them shelter taints themselves with their actions. Make sure everyone knows.”  
  
“Even the soldiers?” Jonathan murmured, and she looked up at him.  
  
“Especially the soldiers,” Jaina said, voice hard. “I have signed treaties and made declarations with the fullness of my heart and I intend to enforce them. I will let no one and nothing disrupt the peace I have built here with my own two hands.”  
  
Jonathan nodded and embraced her again. She closed her eyes, and let him soothe her.  _I know I’m making the right decision. I know it. No matter the cost. I just wish I didn’t feel so much like Arthas when I said it._  
  
~ * ~   
  
Winter turned to Spring, and as the rains slowly turned warmer, Early Spring saw fishermen venturing out into the ocean, casting their lines and setting out their traps to bring in the sea’s bounty. Unrest came in with the tides, and Jonathan was gone more and more frequently, delivering Jaina’s entreaties for peace to less than receptive ears.  
  
 _I must see this through,_  Jaina thought, the anger of her thoughts belied by gentle pen strokes, writing yet another missive to be passed to the latest group of deserters.  _Things were quiet after Winter Veil, but that seems more like a product of the weather than an actual desire for peace… is it really so hard?_  
  
There was a soft, arcane hum as a rune on the wall activated. She’d added the spell into the matrix of existing magical activity, creating a simple communication system, akin to radio signals, but more reliable, or so she hoped.  
  
She just wished it didn’t always herald bad news.  
  
“Lady Proudmoore, it’s Tesoran. May I come and speak with you?” her adjutant called, and she sighed. It was not, as it seemed, the time for her to be wrong.  
  
She pressed a corresponding rune on her desk. “Of course, please.” She finished the sentence she was working on, and was cleaning her pen when the man came in. Tesoran had been from Gilneas originally, grave and no-nonsense, one of the volunteers she’d drummed up in the time before she’d departed for Kalimdor. Even now, despite the year he’d spent in Kalimdor, the expression that came most naturally was something sour.  
  
He reminded her, in many ways, of her mother, and that was a reminder of another duty she’d been putting off for far too long.  _I owe it to them to tell them directly. I’d just hoped for better news._  
  
“What’s the bad news?” Jaina asked, and fought to keep weary cynicism from her voice. It was unfair, both to the messenger and those she served, to feel tired and pessimistic about such things, and yet, here they both were.  
  
“Another raid on a Horde outpost,” Tesoran said, his blunt tone doing nothing to cushion the blow. “Brackenwall, the ogre mound.”  
  
 _Brackenwall, near the border._  Jaina closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, then exhaled, then opened her eyes once more. “Did they catch anyone?”  
  
“No, but they knew they were humans,” Tesoran replied, frowning. “Logrosh brought word back with the latest intelligence. He said they were irate.”  
  
“How irate?” Jaina asked. “Is Logrosh well? Ariana will--”  
  
“He’s unharmed, and he’s a bit tougher than we are, being an orc,” Tesoran said, and only practice allowed her to hear the faintest hint of good humour in it. “But the ogres are irate.”  
  
“I’ll go and speak to them personally,” Jaina said, standing. “I don’t particularly want irate ogres on my back doorstep, if it’s all the same to you.”  
  
“Of course, Lady Proudmoore,” Tesoran said, and paused for a moment. “If I might ask…”  
  
“Yes?” Jaina asked, and the weariness was back.  
  
“How far do you intend to go to keep this peace?”  
  
Jaina met his gaze, frank and fearless. “As far as I have to.”


	7. Early Spring, Year 27

Brackenwall Village was something of a miserable, uninspired mud hole. It had a loose fence made of logs that were more than half-tree, a barely upraised mound made of stone, mud, and rotting plant life, and a single cave.  
  
There were dozens of ogres milling around the village. Here and there, she saw activity: one ogre was punching a crocolisk, not quite dead from the hunt, into submission, each blow bringing with it cracks of bone. One great ogre was stirring a huge cookpot that bubbled a somewhat sickly green, and bringing up bone and organs with each movement. Two ogres were tending to a mass of children, too many to be their own.  
  
_I wonder if those are mothers or…_  Jaina peered a little closer through the misting rain.  _No, fathers. The ogre punching the crocolisk is female, you can tell from the markings. Interesting._ When she had more time, she would take notes regarding ogre society and traditions.  _But first…_  
  
“‘ey!” cried one of the ogres, pointing at Jaina. “Raiders!”  
  
Jaina spun the staff in her hands, and lashed out at the nearest ogre. The head of the staff struck the ogre with a meaty smack, and he bellowed in pain, holding the back of his head. Jaina smiled with grim satisfaction. A handful of lessons with Chen would never make her a monk, but she had learned that ogres did not respect peaceable gestures, nor soothing words. They respected pain and strength, though she had no interest in harming them, merely in thumping them until they listened.   
  
“I am not a raider,” Jaina said, making her voice sound as loud and angry as she could, though her grasp of orcish was far from perfect. “I want to speak to your chieftain. Where are they?”  
  
“Here I am, Lady Proudmoore,” called a voice --  _voices_  -- and the words were soft, melodious, and in perfect Common. She deflated a fraction, and turned towards the speaker. As ogres went, this one was not immense, but still both taller and wider than she was, and a soft shade of blue. The ogre had a pair of heads, one monocular, the other binocular, and both heads were smiling. “My name is Draz’Zilb, and I am the leader of this mound.”  
  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jaina said, planting her staff, and sighed as it sunk an inch into mud. She lifted it gently, tapping aside the muck. “May we speak?”  
  
“Of course, please come to my residence,” Draz’Zilb said, and gestured expansively. Jaina followed him towards the cave, and was surprised to find that, as ogre residences went, it was quite clean: there was no filth inside, and there were a handful of stone tablets, meticulously etched with ogre writing, propped against one wall. Next to the tablets was a small stack of scrolls, and a frame held a piece of hide, well-scraped and thinly stretched.  
  
“Are those spellbooks of a sort?” Jaina asked, curious, as she set her staff down near the entrance. Draz’Zilb sat down, and even sitting, he seemed to fill much of the empty space.  
  
“Books are hard to come by in a marsh, Lady Proudmoore, and harder still for those of my size,” the ogre replied. “But they are my own thoughts and works.”  
  
“Interesting, I wouldn’t mind seeing them,” Jaina said, and moved to sit across from him. “Do you know why I’m here?”  
  
“The raid two nights ago,” Draz’Zilb said promptly, and gestured with both hands. “Humans in silver and white raided our supplies while we slept, under the cover of fog and darkness, of which this place had no short supply. We discovered it and reported it to the courier, Logrosh. We are understandably frustrated and upset.”  
  
Jaina swallowed the lump in her throat, and it was hard to say if it was a lump of anger or despair. She suspected both at once. “Silver and white, not turquoise and green? You’re sure?”  
  
“Very sure, Lady Proudmoore,” the ogre replied, watching her closely with all three eyes. “It was one of the few things that stood out, aside from one of the names.”  
  
“Which name?” Jaina asked, focusing on his faces. “Who was there?”  
  
“We heard the name ‘Reethe’,” Draz’Zilb replied. She felt cold as recognition shivered across her spine. “Is it a name you know?”  
  
“Yes, it is,” Jaina said. “I’m sorry this has happened. It won’t happen again. Is there something you can do to secure your supplies, meanwhile?”  
  
“Yes, I believe we can,” the ogre said after a moment’s thought. “What do you intend to do?”  
  
“I will seek out Paval Reethe and discipline him,” Jaina replied. “And then I’m going to have a word with his superior. I promise you, this will not happen again.” Jaina stood, brushing her robes with shaking hands. Anger. Cold. Not fear. “And I’d like to propose an exchange involving your tablets.”  
  
“Oh?” Draz’Zilb said, raising three eyebrows. “What exchange?”  
  
“I’d like to copy and translate your works,” Jaina replied.  _Focusing on academia will prevent me from causing it to hail._  “In return, I’ll give you a book that’s large enough for you to use and it will be protected from all but the most extreme of elements.”  
  
“I would like that very much,” the ogre said, nodding thoughtfully. “Thank you, we did not expect to be believed… and truthfully, the others did not want to speak of it at all. They were embarrassed by it. Humans are… small. Fragile. Easily crushed. Or so they believe.”  
  
“You don’t believe that?” Jaina asked, blinking away frost. Draz’zilb smiled slightly.  
  
“Individual humans are small, yes, and perhaps easily crushed… but humans do not stay individuals. They do not stay fragile. Crush one, or even a dozen, and a thousand more will come with knights on horses with lances, with ballistas to shoot great bolts, and with mages.” His eyes twinkled. “And we do not do well against mages, for the most part.”  
  
“Somehow, I suspect you would be a challenge if we chose to be enemies, but we do not. Thank you for trusting me, Draz’zilb. It was good to meet with you.” Jaina offered him her hand, and he took it, shaking it very gently.  
  
“Thank you for believing, Lady Proudmoore,” the ogre replied. “I will prepare tablets for your return.”  
  
Jaina nodded and stepped back, teleporting back to her office in an instant. Any good humour fled, and she set her mouth in a grim line. She turned, taking two steps towards her desk, and stabbed her finger at the glowing rune. “Captain Vimes, are you available?”  
  
There was a brief pause as the spell sought out the intended recipient. Vimes, leader of Theramore’s armed forces, had an office in Theramore’s Keep, keeping him close to the soldiers, scouts, and sailors he commanded. Jaina waited impatiently until he replied:  
  
“Yes, Lady Proudmoore?” The older man had a different accent from hers, sharper and slightly more nasal, and she could call up an image of him in her mind: dark skinned, with a broad, flat nose and widely flaring nostrils. His hair was chin length and a dark silver. He was broadly built, steady and capable; though few would trust someone of Kezanite descent,  _she_  was more than willing. She wished fervently that she had better news, and not even hearing his voice could keep the frustration from hers.  
  
“I need you to retrieve Paval Reethe and keep him in your office until I arrive,” Jaina said tersely. “And if he has any goods about him, anything like supplies, seize them. They’re stolen.”  
  
“Reethe’s a troublemaker, alright,” Vimes growled. “He’s been lax for months, and now this. I must say, don’t think much of Lordaeron’s commanders if these are the kinds of guards they had on the Camps.”  
  
_That’s right,_  Jaina thought.  _Though that explains…_  “Trust me, all things considered, Reethe is a saint compared to his old superior. Just find him, if you please, Garran.”  
  
“Right you are, Lady Proudmoore,” Vimes replied. “He’ll be in my office soon enough.”  
  
“Thank you, Captain.” Jaina let the rune go, and watched it fade. She stared at her desk a few moments longer. Anger churned at her, cold and terrible.  _Is it possible he didn't know? Is it possible Reethe lied well enough to trick him?_  
  
Theramore had hundreds of soldiers, and thousands of civilians. Everyone she could convince had come with her, from Lordaeron, from Gilneas, from Dalaran and Kul Tiras. Even, some rare folk like Vimes, from Azeroth. Reasonably, their commanders didn't have their eyes on their soldiers at every moment of every day. That's why commanders had subordinates, lieutenants and sergeants and squad leaders. Vimes didn't have direct supervision over Reethe's activities, but another man did: Lieutenant Jonathan Taylor.  
  
_There's a chance he was aware, that Reethe made his excuses and Jonathan was too busy to pursue it, but..._  Jaina pursed her lips.  _I have a hard time believing that. Reethe could have been acting under another lieutenant's orders, but... if his men were being coopted, that's all the more reason why Jonathan should have said something. I need to speak to him._  
  
She walked to the door of her office, opened it, and paused to look left and right.  _Well, so much for the easy option._  Jaina went right, past Ariana's office with a quick wave, and then went downstairs. Jaina's tower had many floors, the upper ones reserved for her own use, but the lower ones for various other purposes: storehouses of spare weapons, armour, and supplies for emergencies, offices and meeting rooms for strategizing, a receiving chamber for guests, and a more public library available to any who cared to come into the tower.  
  
_He's not likely to be here... but there are other options,_  Jaina thought sourly, and stepped out of her tower and into a soft, misting rain. In most places, miserable, wet weather would be a basis for wanting to stay indoors rather than bustling activity, but Theramore was not most places. Like her home nation of Kul Tiras, the weather was wet nearly as often as it was dry, and mist, rain, and fog were common. Equipment was altered to be proof against wet weather, and soldiers and sailors alike trained in all but the worst environmental conditions.  
  
Jaina made her way from her tower to Theramore Keep, looking around as she walked. Here and there she saw guards, clad in silver and white, bearing the golden anchor of Theramore and the Proudmoore family. Some watched vigilantly as people travelled from place to place, observing for thieves or injury, while others gathered in groups of two or three, speaking quietly.  
  
Some soldiers, she also noted, waved at her in greeting though they did not look from their duty, and others merely eyed her speculatively. She shivered.  _They could just be busy talking. It doesn't mean anything. Don't be paranoid,_  she chided herself, and looked towards the Keep. Standing outside in the practice yards, mere metres from where her father had died, where her family's blood had been spilled, was Jonathan.  
  
Her lover was sparring with one of the other men, while a half-dozen more were drilling and practicing with weapons. Over the strikes of metal against metal, and not quite muffled by the rain and fog, she could hear a scattering of words.  
  
One of them was "orc", and then some laughter.  
  
Jaina's eyes narrowed, and she quickened her pace. She had reached the entrance to the inner courtyard when Jonathan's partner drew back and pointed. He turned and smiled at her, raising a hand in greeting.  
  
"Lady Proudmoore!" he called cheerfully. "Come to see your forces hard at work?"  
  
"Lieutenant Taylor," Jaina replied, meeting his warmth with cold. "I'd like to have a word." She glances around. "Is this everyone?"  
  
"'Cept Reethe," noted one of the women, taking the opportunity to stretch. "Got called in by the Captain. Think he's in trouble. Again." She snorted.  
  
"Your loyalty has been noted, Agatha," Jonathan said, and Jaina made cold observation of it. "What can I help you with?"  
  
"In private, inside," Jaina indicated. Raising an eyebrow, Jonathan nodded, and indicated to his men to pair up once more and keep drilling. Jaina walked towards the Keep's doors briskly, leaving Jonathan to follow behind her. Just as they entered the Keep, Jonathan reached for her hand. She pushed his hand away and turned on him. "Don't."  
  
"Having another bad day?" Jonathan asked, his voice gentle. "Don't take it out on me, love."  
  
"Do you know where Paval Reethe was two nights ago?" Jaina demanded. "It would have been late, during night watch."  
  
"Not off hand, but I'm sure you'll tell me," Jonathan replied. "Why?"  
  
“He participated in a raid on Brackenwall Village,” Jaina said. She noted Jonathan’s carefully blank expression and added, “The ogre settlement halfway between the mainland and the border with the Barrens.”  
  
“I’ve never been there, but wouldn’t it be… a filthy hole?” Jonathan’s lips curled in a sneer, and Jaina frowned at him.  
  
“No, it wouldn’t be,” Jaina replied shortly. “And even if it was, it wouldn’t excuse stealing from them. It’s their home and we are sharing this Marsh with them. They are allies to the Horde as well, and should the Horde care to take action, I would be forced to explain why I can’t control my own soldiers.”  
  
“If the Horde has a problem with it, maybe they shouldn’t have let them build in  _your_  territory,” Jonathan pointed out, moving a little closer to her. Jaina held her ground, giving him a hard look. “I know that you view the Horde as allies, but you’re letting them push you into a corner. The whole Marsh is ours, not just Theramore. Anyone else is an invader.”  
  
“I was aware of the presence of ogres during the second and third stages of the treaty,” Jaina said, her fingers clenching. “And so long as the ogres in Dustwallow don’t expand significantly beyond the two mounds they’re already living in, they are welcome here.”  
  
“Yes, but what choice did you have but to make them welcome?” Jonathan asked, studying her expression even as Jaina clenched her jaw. “They were squatting on the land, up in their filth and their muck. I’m not saying Reethe was right… but how can you blame him for what he’s done?”  
  
_No, that’s exactly what you’re saying,_  Jaina thought furiously.  _I don’t think I like what you’re implying at all._  She opened her mouth to say so, but paused, a shiver of suspicion down her spine.  _He’s claiming he had nothing to do with it, but how many times had he defended this kind of behaviour before? And if this is coming from the one negotiating with the Tiran survivors_ and _Theran soldiers…_  
  
“I knew you’d see things my way,” Jonathan said, and there was a gleam of triumph in his eyes. He leaned in to kiss her, intent on claiming his victory. Jaina put her arms around him and permitted the kiss, and felt him grin as she pulled at his tunic, pressing cool fingers to bare skin. She traced a pattern that was almost, but not quite, entirely random before releasing him.  
  
“I need to speak to Captain Vimes,” she murmured, lowering her eyes a little. “Reethe still needs to be punished, he did break the rules. I need to be seen as abiding by the treaties.”  
  
“Of course,” Jonathan said. “Just don’t be too hard on him. He only thought he was doing what was right and fair.”  
  
_As am I,_  Jaina thought as she murmured noncommittally in reply.  _As am I._  
  
~ * ~  
  
“Got him,” Rylai said, peering at the map. Jaina looked it over, spotting the pulsing purple rune just over Northwatch Hold. Her expression soured. “That’s not good, is it?”  
  
“No,” Jaina replied. “It’s not.” Jaina drew back from the table and began to pace. Rylai watched her closely with eyes a nearly-identical shade of blue. She had known Rylai Crestfall for many years, since Rylai had come to Dalaran at sixteen from Jaina’s native Kul Tiras and caused teachers that had known Jaina for years immense amounts of confusion. They shared the same paleness of skin, the same golden-blonde hair, and the same affinity for frost magic, though Rylai was not as talented as Jaina with summoning and teleportation, and Jaina less talented with the sheer, raw destructive power of cold.  
  
_Rylai helped me build the wards here, and objected when I insisted on binding them to myself. Strenuously._  Jaina fingered the beads strung about her left wrist, out of sight under the wide sleeves of her robes.  _It must be me. It must fall to me. I won’t see others pulled down if it all goes poorly, and yet…_  
  
“What are you going to do?” Rylai asked after a moment. “If you’re right…”  
  
“I’ll spy on him under an invisibility spell until he incriminates himself,” Jaina said, committing the coordinates of the glowing mark to memory. “I’ll record it so he can’t deny it later. If I’m wrong, then I’ll apologize and seek elsewhere for the source of this. If I’m not…”  
  
“You should take us with you,” Rylai insisted, not for the first time. “Me, I’ll be your decoy again, or Tervosh. He can help you subdue the dissenters if they get violent, or if they threaten you openly.”  
  
“I don’t intend to be caught,” Jaina pointed out. “I’ll record the meeting and confront Jonathan when he returns to Theramore. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not--”  
  
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Rylai interrupted. “This isn’t like those other times. This isn’t just personal, it affects us all.”  
  
“It’s my mistake I let things go this far,” Jaina replied quietly. “It’s hard to see people’s faults when you’re this close to them. I should have--”  
  
“It’s not your fault.” Rylai came around the table to grip Jaina’s hands tightly, meeting warmth with cold. As someone who had studied to use magic instead of being born with it, Rylai never lost control of her magic with her temper the way Jaina did, and it was one of the ways in which they were different. She met Jaina’s gaze and held it. “Tell me you know it’s not your fault.”  
  
The very notion sat poorly on Jaina’s tongue. “You sound like Tervosh,” she said instead. “You worry too much.”  
  
“Don’t distract me,” Rylai insisted, though Jaina saw the faintest hints of a smile tug at her lips.  
  
_She’s already thinking of her partner,_  Jaina thought, not without fondness, and a familiar ache that had been with her sporadically throughout her life. “I am not responsible for Jonathan’s actions,” Jaina said. “Only he is.”  
  
“That’s not the same thing and you know it,” Rylai said, and kissed Jaina’s forehead before releasing her hands. “Be careful, please.”  
  
“Am I ever not careful?” Jaina asked lightly. Rylai frowned at her.  
  
“All the time.”  
  
Jaina smiled at her winningly, and wrapped an invisibility spell around her. She felt the world shift, warp, and fog around her, though she could still see the smudge of Rylai’s face, floating above a white that lost its nuance of green and gold. Safely hidden, she began to cast the teleportation spell with only the faintest hint of magic.  
  
“All I want to do is observe and gather evidence,” Jaina said, her voice floating out from behind the spell. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
“But we worry about you,” Rylai said, her voice swallowed up by the end of the spell, and Jaina was shrouded in silence as well as fog.  
  
Northwatch Hold had been built into the cliffs of the Barrens, halfway between Durotar and Theramore. It was meant as a compromise of sorts: with the orcs unable or unwilling to field great fleets, Jaina had promised Thrall ships to protect him in case of other attacks, and more, since it was likely that those attacks would come from humans or elves rather than anything else, the presence of human sailors would reassure them. Ratchet, a goblin port, was nestled between Durotar and the Barrens, available and willing to offer protection and forces for a price.  
  
_And no one has quite forgotten the bargain I made with the goblins to protect the Horde,_  Jaina thought as she forced herself to focus on the world around her.  _Even those assigned to Northwatch._  
  
The Hold itself was a huge fortress built from grey stone and constructed as close to the cliffside as it could be. Magic had gone into the land to protect it against erosion -- the real reason most people didn’t build fortresses on cliffs -- just as it had gone into the stone to prevent it from molding or chipping. Attacks from cannon fire would still break its walls, but weakness would not come from within.  _There’s a metaphor in that,_  Jaina thought, and watched the guards.  
  
There were standard patrols along the stone-cobbled roads leading in and out of the Hold, and Jaina hid off to the side, watching them pass back and forth.  _They’ll definitely know I’m there if they bump into me, and they’ll see anything I touch that I can’t bring under the spell with me, but this isn’t my first castoff. I won’t be caught._  
  
So, Jaina waited, watching for the perfect moment when neither guard would be looking at her or the door inside, and hastened towards it. She was near-silent under her spell, her movements muffled but not quite inaudible. It was difficult to grip things as the world wavered and resolved around her, but here too she had practice. She opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind her.  
  
Many of the soldiers of Northwatch Hold were off-shift, and spending their time socializing or resting. Only the evening shift soldiers, those who patrolled the grounds or the walls, were outside, making things ideal for a meeting.  
  
It was hard to focus on exactly who was there, though the arcane mark she’d placed on Jonathan to track him burned brightly, even through the haze and fog. Jaina retrieved a crystal from her sleeve and thumbed it on. It, at least, would be able to hear everything clearly even if she couldn’t. She would have to focus on specific voices, and again, the arcane mark would help.  
  
Had Jonathan been a mage, he would have been able to remove it. Had her teachers seen her, marking a non-mage without his knowledge or consent, they might have lectured her. This was not nearly as harmless as merely spying on the Six during meetings, it constituted a violation of privacy guaranteed to those who were not mages.  
  
_The safety of Theramore and the treaties with the Horde come first,_  she thought grimly.  _Before his privacy, before rules written in a city that no longer exists. I will not allow violence and death to touch my people and my allies because I’m too pent up in the letter of the law to act._  
  
Jaina waited quietly, listening. She kept part of her focus on the spell that kept her safe, while the rest was on the conversation.  
  
“The ogres sent word to Theramore that they were raided,” Jonathan began, and the air seemed to buzz with disapproval. “Reethe’s been fingered, so he’s being punished. They don’t seem to have recognized anyone else.”  
  
“And the supplies?” someone asked.  
  
“Taken,” Jonathan replied. More disapproval. “But we’ve got a half-dozen more discontent over the decision. Plenty of people don’t care much for filthy sub-humans, all we have to do is convince them to move. We’ll drive the ogres out of our land.”  
  
_It’s no more ours than theirs!_  Jaina thought.  _We’re just as much invaders as they. I picked one of the least occupied parts of Kalimdor that I could still work with, how much more do you want?_  
  
“What does the Lady have to say about that?” asked another voice, and Jaina thought she could detect concern, though it was hard to tell around the warping of their voice. “Will she agree?”  
  
“I’m talking her around,” Jonathan replied, and Jaina was outraged at the smoothness of it, the ease with which he lied. “In a month’s time, I’ll have her bring in the Tirans, and we can start the fight with the orcs properly. She has to see how mistaken she was. Naive and childish.”  
  
Rage flowed through Jaina, and it was all she could do to hold her spell steady, to cling to her calm and her skill. The next thing she heard chilled her to the bone.  
  
“She’s no Lady of mine, and she’s a damned traitor,” said a new speaker. “Traipsin’ about, as if she hadn’t thrown the Admiral to the orcs, her own flesh’n blood! She’s no better than the orcs.”  
  
“We don’t need her!” cried another, even as there were buzzing words half-obscuring it, and Jaina was forced only to concentrate on the dominant voice. “If she wants them orcs so bad, I say we strip her of all her damned airs and throw her to ‘em. See how much she trusts ‘em then.”  
  
“I know what you want, and trust me, I want it too,” Jonathan said, and Jaina felt the words squeeze her heart like a fist. “But her humiliation and justice for the Grand Admiral will come after we have everything in place, not before. She needs to be vulnerable, stripped of all of her power and influence. It’s closer than she can imagine.”  
  
The meeting became less formal then, and Jaina let the crystal record, even as she closed herself off from the words.  _Where did they all come from? How is this possible? He was supposed to be helping me--_  
  
She shoved her knuckles into her mouth and bit down, muffling the noise of despair she made. Jonathan Taylor was a professional liar. There was nothing coincidental about this, nothing sincere about his words or his manner. Every conversation they’d ever had had been tainted now by this knowledge, this… certainty.  
  
_He never loved me at all,_  Jaina thought with despair.  _He never intended to help. He just wanted to push me towards this… this ruin. This violation of all I’ve held dear. He wanted my trust so he could betray it. He wanted my heart so he could break it. I’ve never met someone so cold before, so cruel. Not even Arthas, not even Kael, and certainly not--_  
  
Jonathan was moving now, leaving Northwatch Keep, to go...   
  
_To go back to Theramore, to smile and me and lie to me._  Jaina’s resolve hardened, crystallized.  _He’s done. Not one more word from his lying tongue._  She activated a second teleport spell, and with the soldiers all unknowing, she returned to Theramore.  
  
~ * ~  
  
“Tracking shows us that we have another ten minutes before Jonathan comes ashore,” Rylai noted unhappily. “Are you sure we can’t just--” At the look on Jaina’s face, she hastily added, “I was only kidding.”  
  
The moment she had returned to Theramore, she had assembled her trusted advisors and staff. Rylai and Tervosh, Tesoran and Ariana, Vimes and Logrosh, all listened to the words spoken by Jonathan and those of the Northwatch soldiers.  
  
“We’ll need to find someone to replace the commander at Northwatch Hold,” Vimes said gruffly. “Sooner rather than later, but I don’t know if we have anyone ready. It’s not an easy posting.”  
  
“Do what you can,” Jaina murmured. Her fingers were clenched, pressed into the side of the table. “There’s no telling how far this… poison has spread.”  
  
“Do you want a warning sent to Orgrimmar?” Logrosh asked, putting a soft growl into the city’s name. Ariana wrapped her hand around his, squeezing it in comfort. “Though you can send word yourself directly, can’t you?”  
  
“No,” Jaina replied. “No, no messages, sent or otherwise. This is our problem, we need to deal with it. If we involve the Horde, they will be forced to act… in ways that will make coming back from it all that much harder.”  
  
“The response to the assault on Tiragarde,” Tesoran noted. “They were within their rights to do so, but…”  
  
“It could be what they wanted all along,” Tervosh pointed out, and Jaina looked up at him sharply. Tervosh was of Dalaran, truly of Dalaran, heart and soul. The magical, fallen city had been his home until Jaina had convinced him to come with her, and now Theramore was all he had. “Not the Horde, the dissenters. We let Thrall come down hard on them, and now they feel as though we’ll let the Horde do whatever it wants.”  
  
“I had no choice, you know that,” Jaina said. “They wanted to kill farmers and villagers in retaliation for my father’s death. On Winter Veil. Unacceptable.”  
  
“Of course we understand,” Rylai said, even as Tervosh opened his mouth. “The trouble is, how many saw it as yet another case of you being unwilling to defend humans for the sake of the orcs?”  
  
“I will not fight the Horde,” Jaina whispered. “I will not let him start a war. He used me, Ryl. If there was a valid point behind any of this, any reasonable concerns that should be brought up, those points and concerns were rendered moot by the fact that he  _used_  me. Or, he tried to.”  
  
“How much further will you go?” Tervosh asked, his voice quiet. Jaina looked at him, startled. “How many steps are a step too far?”  
  
“I won’t have every person who disagrees with me executed, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jaina said slowly, and her gaze drifted to Ariana and Logrosh’s entwined fingers. “But people deliberately stirring up trouble must be stopped, it must be made clear… they are manipulators. Jonathan isn’t doing this out of concern. He’s doing it because he wants revenge.”  
  
“What about you?” Tervosh asked, and Jaina’s gaze fixed on him. “Is this about revenge? Is this about being right? Is this--”  
  
“It’s about finally being able to stop someone!” Jaina snapped. “I couldn’t stop Arthas and look at what he’s done! What he’s still doing! I couldn’t stop my father, and look at all the trouble that’s caused. I  _can_  stop Jonathan, and I  _will_.”  
  
“No matter the cost?”  
  
“I--”  
  
“You need to set down rules, Jaina,” Tervosh said, keeping his voice soft, and so reasonable that she didn’t know if she hated him or loved him for it. “Write policy. I know you don’t want to write too many laws to restrict your people. I know you hate convoluted social protocol. We can be as straightforward about this as you need to, but you  _must_  set precedent here. It’s not going to go away with Jonathan, even if you do stop him.”  
  
Jaina’s lips tightened. “Officers inciting dissent are fully responsible for their actions and will bear the consequences for them. Soldiers acting on the strict orders of officers and doing no more than what they are told are not criminals. If soldiers are found to be acting above and beyond their orders, twisting them to incite dissent and to act against the treaties made with the Kaldorei and the Horde, they will also be punished.”  
  
“People might claim they were just following orders then,” Tervosh warned. “Who knows how many people will try to squeeze out of being punished by claiming that?”  
  
“We expect and demand that our forces obey orders!” Jaina cried. “You might be ordered to do something you think is foolish or dangerous or terrible, only to learn that your commanding officer had the right idea all along. We do much with asking for volunteers for dangerous duties, but sometimes we expect to be obeyed without argument. Some  _will_  determine that their commanding officers are acting inappropriately on their own, others may fear retaliation. Doing the right thing can’t be a punishment for people.”  
  
“Are they doing the right thing if they’re fearful of only their own pain, or that of their immediate families?” Logrosh demanded, and she met the orc’s gaze coldly, glaring at him until he looked away.  
  
“I have seen how petty commanding officers can be if they don’t get their way. I watched Arthas dissolve the Silver Hand because Uther dared argue with him and he had the authority to at least force him to back down. I will not punish people for being  _mortal_ , for not being perfect figurines on pedestals. People can form their own opinions on the matter privately. This is  _law_.”  
  
“Then you must write it down and bring it into practice before you confront Jonathan,” Ariana said softly. “Tervosh is right, we must be clear. It also means that dissenters can’t claim others have committed crimes when they haven’t.”  
  
“Crimes of cowardice, corruption, or… miscegenation,” Vimes noted, not quite looking at Jaina or Ariana. “Nonsense, of course, but it’s easier to disobey your commanding officers when you believe they’re wrong first.”  
  
_As if we don’t know what is said of us,_  Jaina thought angrily, but nodded. “It’s significantly easier, as a matter of fact,” Jaina replied. “Are we all in agreement?”  
  
There was a round of nods before Tervosh spoke up again. “And what is the punishment for this high treason?”  
  
Jaina gave him a flat look. “There is only one response to treason and we both know what it is. I will see this through, no matter what.”  
  
Tervosh met her gaze steadily and nodded. “As you say, Lady Proudmoore.”


	8. High Spring, Year 27/Late Winter, Year 27

It had taken a day and a half to finish writing up the new laws regarding treason. There had been additions, modifications, and adjustments made until they said what Jaina wished them to say:  
  
_The orcs are here to stay and we are to cooperate with them and their allies. We do not steal from them, we do not kill them, we do not provoke them. We defend ourselves if we must, and we must justify this to rigorous examination afterwards. We are not traitors and not cowards. The only ones who are are those who flaunt our laws and attack those commanded to respond. Theramore is not at war with the Horde, and will not consider itself to be so unless war is formally declared as a result of irreconcilable hostilities._  
  
Jonathan hadn’t come back to her overnight, though he was in Theramore, in his quarters and then going out to the Keep for his duties in the morning. The mark that tracked him still burned brightly on the map, and he’d neither noticed it nor removed it.  
  
_Now that the ink is dry, it’s time to deal with him,_  Jaina thought grimly as she made her way to where he was, through her own tower and out into the streets of Theramore. Perversely, on a day that should have been grim and grey, it was fine. The sun shone brightly, and the gulls cried out on the docks. The city was busy as the Therans poured out of their homes to spend time in the sun, soaking it in like garden flowers.  _This is who I do this for. Not for myself, not for pride, but for the people who will die if we go to war… because war is never as neat as two armies politely taking turns bashing at each other. It’s messy, cruel, and terrible. It’s terrifying. It spares no one out of thoughtfulness, only out of inability to get to them before it’s over. I do this for my people._  
  
Doubt had whispered to her all night long: memories of Arthas, doing everything he could for his people, including murdering them. Kael, falling into the company of demon-worshippers and traitors to prevent his people from starving. Grom, drinking demon’s blood to kill Cenarius, to save the Warsong, to avoid  _losing_. Illidan, accepting demonic magic, twisting his form from night elf to half-demon, to defeat a full demon and protect the Kaldorei.  
  
_I am not like them,_  Jaina thought, her mind fixed on her intent.  _I’m doing what’s right. I’m doing what needs to be done to preserve peace. The price of peace is constant vigilance._  She’d almost activated her rune last night to talk to Thrall. His voice was deep and gentle, his manner kind and sympathetic. He knew, exactly as she did, at what price this peace came. He had agents watching troublemakers, dispatching them if necessary. He didn’t speak of it openly, and it clearly worried him to do so, but sometimes the only way to save a village was to plant a dagger in one person’s back in the dark.  
  
_I have my friends, my advisors, and my allies,_  Jaina thought as she walked through the training yard and into the Keep itself. Vimes knew of her intent, which is why Jonathan was working indoors today, despite the good weather. He suspected, she hoped, nothing.  _I can do this. I_  must  _do this._  
  
Jaina found Jonathan working in one of the side offices, which was a bit cluttered with paperwork, mostly performance evaluations to see who needed more training and discipline, and who might be overdue for a pay raise. It was something she’d never truly worried about when she had only been a mage, only a student, and now she passed that work onto others who knew what to do about it better than she did.  
  
“Jonathan,” she said, keeping her voice tightly controlled. “I need a word with you.”  
  
“A word?” he replied, and grinned up at her, though she did not smile in return. “Couldn’t wait for me to leave the office?”  
  
“No,” Jaina replied simply. “I know you’ve been lying to me. You aren’t trying to diffuse the situation with the Tiran survivors, you’re trying to accelerate it. You’re rabble rousing, encouraging people towards treason, and I won’t have any of it.”  
  
"I'm not sure who spoke to you," Jonathan began. "But you've got it all wrong. I have to get them to trust me, to listen to the things I have to say. I only want what's best for Theramore, just as you--"  
  
Jaina watched him coldly, noticing the way his gaze darted over her face, looking for...  _For what? To see if I've been so blinded by lust and naivety that he can talk me into damning my allies and repudiating my morals. I don't think so. Not for Arthas, not for my father, and certainly not for you._  "Liar. Traitor. You think I'm stupid but I'm not. You think I sat in my tower, ignorant of all that you did, relying on other people to tell me what was going on?" Jaina retrieved a crystal from her sleeve, and turned it on.  
  
Jonathan's expression, as he heard his own voice and listened to his own words betray him, changed, his supercilious smile melting into a snarling grimace. "You were naive enough to take me in. Do you think I ever cared for you?"  
  
"No," Jaina replied shortly. "I wanted to believe it for a time, that you were capable of caring about the same things that I cared about. Now I can see that you didn't. Now I can see you're no different from any other coward."  
  
"Better a coward that a traitor!" Jonathan cried, standing hurriedly. The desk rocked and Jaina retrieved the crystal, cutting off the recorded words. "Do you have any idea how many died when you sold Tiragarde out to the orcs during the Razor Hill assault? Do you?!"  
  
"Fifty one," Jaina replied softly. "Twenty five marines, sixteen assorted orcs, including farmers, an innkeeper, and two children, and ten Kor'kron. It was bloody, thankless, and terrible. It should not have happened, not on Winter Veil. I swore to Thrall I knew nothing of it, as you tried to tell me they couldn’t be blamed for it."  
  
"The blood that was spilled was supposed to be a wake-up call!" Jonathan leaned over the desk, and Jaina stared him down. "For them, if not for you. They didn’t know you the way I did. Some of them actually thought you’d been brainwashed by the greenskins. That you could be talked out of your idiot promises. They had to see how they were wrong.”  
  
“You provoked them when you could have promoted peace and understanding!” Jaina cried, understanding and anger hitting her with hammer blows. “While I was in Orgrimmar participating in a cultural exchange and--”  
  
“Oh yes,  _that’s_  what you were exchanging,” Jonathan shot back, his expression thunderous. “You couldn’t be happy with me in your bed every night, you’re so insatiable that you needed orc cock too. Or were you happy with only one?”  
  
Jaina lashed out, striking him across the face. His head turned with the blow, but there was a dark smile on his face. “Jonathan Taylor, you are under arrest for treason. May the Light have mercy on your soul, because I sure as hell won’t.”  
  
Jonathan made to lunge over the desk, and she struck him with magic full force: purple runes sprang up around him, weaving themselves into a series of letters and patterns, half of them comprehensible, none of them recognizable save for those who had studied magic. The word-strings wrapped around him like snakes, lightning quick and infinitely stronger than any natural creature. Once they touched Jonathan’s skin, they sunk into him, digging in like fangs, hooking his skin and not letting go.  
  
For one brief moment, he met her gaze, anger and violence shifting into confusion and fear, frozen in place though he was.  _I have nothing to say to you,_  she thought coldly, and snapped her fingers. He shrank abruptly into a small, furred form, landing on the desk. He gave one or two tentative hops before she reached down to grip him behind the neck. She heard rushing, booted feet and turned.  
  
“Lady Proudmoore!” Vimes called, rushing in. “Are you-- yes, of course you are. Is that...?”  
  
“He’ll revert back when he’s in a jail cell,” Jaina said calmly. “See to it.”  
  
Vimes stepped up to take the rabbit from her hands. It kicked and squeaked, irate. “That’s enough of that, Taylor,” the Captain said gruffly. “Come along now.”  
  
Jaina watched them go, and bit back a hysterical laugh.  _He won’t be able to rabbit out of this one._  She looked back at his desk and felt her amusement die.  _The blood of fifty-one lives are on his hands. Now I just need to be sure to prove he intended to spill more._  
  
Jaina took a deep breath, and traced out a rune. “Ariana? Get Tesoran. I want all of Jonathan’s things searched. Every paper, every hidden safe. I want to know the extent of this.”  
  
After a moment, she heard affirmatives from both of them, and closed her eyes briefly.  
  
It was all coming to an end.  
  
~ * ~  
  
Two days after his arrest, Jonathan Taylor was convicted of treason and sentenced to die. Two days of searching through private files and documents, through his barracks quarters, and a brief, but unrepentant confession had brought them to this.  
  
Jaina did not believe in public executions.  _It’s spectacle, and I won’t stand for that. It’s neither a rallying point nor entertainment. It’s a necessity, nothing more, and nothing less._  
  
The order for Jonathan’s execution had included all of his crimes. Treason. Murder. Incitement to rebellion. Incitement to commit theft. Conspiracy with an enemy force. Conspiracy to break treaties with the Horde. Tesoran had written the list, and Ariana had confirmed each charge.  
  
She had signed it. She had signed it, knowing that there would be no turning back; that once she had done it, staying the executioner’s hand would be considered weakness.  _It’s not a matter of pride. It’s a matter of necessity._  
  
The execution required a handful of witnesses. Tesoran and Vimes stood on either side: Tesoran, as Adjutant to the Lady of Theramore, and Vimes as Jonathan’s commanding officer, regardless of how little he’d been responsible for his actions. Both had urged her not to attend, and now that she was there, they would say nothing, voice no objections in public.  
  
It was sunset, and the sky was red streaked with gold, stretching long fingers towards the velvety darkness of true night. Jaina wore a long, black cloak, unmagical in all ways, save for that which kept her sheltered from the wind that had picked up, tugging at the fabric like an impatient child.  
  
This was not the first time the gallows had been used, but as always, Jaina hoped it would be the last. Jaina watched as the executioner, their identity concealed behind a black hood, led Jonathan up the ramp and onto the high, wooden platform. Jonathan’s head was covered by a rough sack, which was removed by the executioner.  
  
Tesoran took a step forward, and Jaina put her hand on his arm, shaking her head once. “Jaina, don’t--”  
  
“Lieutenant Jonathan Taylor,” Jaina said, letting magic trickle into her voice, aiming it squarely at her ex-lover. As she spoke, his eyes widened, blazing with hate. “You have been convicted of treason and sentenced to death by hanging. Do you have anything you wish to say?”  
  
Jonathan laughed harshly, even as the noose was placed around his neck, the knot secured carefully behind his neck. “It’s incredible that you think you can keep this a secret,  _traitor_.”   
  
Jaina stared at him, unflinching. She’d heard his rant during the trial as well, insisting that he was one of the loyal few, and all of them traitors.  _It never ceases to amaze and disgust me that he calls the orcs monsters, when he barely seems human once you scrape off that thin veneer from his persona of loving partner._  
  
“The world will know what you’ve done here, soon enough,” Jonathan continued, his teeth drawn back in a snarl, even as he was directed onto the trap door. “You and your band of conspirators. You’ll be sorry, you--”  
  
“Enough,” Jaina said, anger threaded with weariness.  _This has gone on long enough. Far too long._  “Let it be done.”  
  
The executioner stepped back, and with one deft motion, pulled a lever. The trap door opened, and Jonathan fell. His weight had been carefully calculated, the rope boiled, oiled, and pre-stretched, the knot secure.  
  
When his neck snapped, Tesoran flinched, the muscle in Vimes’ jaw twitched violently, and Jaina opened her hand, a hand she hadn’t realized she’d closed, and let a ball of ice fall to the ground.  
  
“Let him hang for one hour, then cremate him and put him in a brick grave,” Jaina ordered. “Put him in the war memorial.”  
  
“The Theran one, Lady Proudmoore?” the executioner asked, his voice respectful, as though a man wasn’t dead, hanging weight nearby.  
  
“No, the memorial for the invaders,” Jaina replied. “There’s no reason to put him in with the loyalists.”  
  
“As you say, Lady Proudmoore,” the executioner said, and nodded to her. Jaina nodded back, and turned, walking away from the gallows.  
  
Her journey back to her tower was rapid, as she ignored every sight that usually filled her with such joy: the people enjoying the unseasonably dry weather, the places they had built together, all of the things that made her proud.  
  
She could still hear the crack his neck made when it broke.  
  
The sound chased her inside her tower, and as she closed the door, hard, there was a second, echoing noise, and then the familiar sound of rainfall.  
  
_At least that won’t matter for the ash-water,_  Jaina thought, and lifted her hand to stifle the hysterical giggle that was on her lips. She bit into her finger, keeping it inside.  _It burns anything, no matter how wet._  
  
The journey through her tower was slower as she touched things, familiar things, taking comfort in them. There were maps of Theramore, Durotar, and Ashenvale, each precious and special in their own ways. There were prototype models for devices that she had worked on, or had replaced with better models. There were pictures and paintings, there were books.  
  
Her journey for comfort had taken her to her office.  _The world will know what you’ve done,_  echoed in her mind, and rather than bring about hysteria, she felt cold.  _I need to tell my family what’s happened. How many months has it been? They must be wondering…_  
  
Divesting herself of her cloak, Jaina sat at her desk, pulled out a piece of paper and began to write.  
  
~ * ~  
  
“It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever written,” Jaina admitted softly, turning her now-empty mug in her hands. “I could justify my decision to Jonathan and to Thrall, but to Mother? Finnall? You? Finn loved Da, probably more than either of us, and we loved him with all our hearts. I could barely write anything. I remember thinking how stiff it was.”  
  
“We did learn of Da’s death from another source before you,” Tandred said, the words coming slowly and carefully. Jaina kept her gaze on the dregs of tea leaves. “We were told that Da had been killed by orcs and that you’d betrayed him. We didn’t believe it, not at first. Then your message came, saying essentially the same thing… and so we filled in the gaps. We avoided contacting you because it wasn’t a thing to be done via messengers, and we couldn’t take the rest of the fleet. We’d be slitting our own throats. More than that, though, if we confronted you, we’d need to go to the rest of the Alliance for help prosecuting you. For treason.”  
  
Jaina’s cheeks flushed with anger, even as cold rippled through her. “I did everything I could to  _stop_  the conflict from escalating, save for forcibly teleporting Da back to Boralus. I’ve felt so guilty about his death, turned it over and over in my mind… but it wasn’t  _wrong_  to stop him, Tandred. If I hadn’t, it  _would_  have been war.”  
  
“I don’t necessarily disagree with you,” Tandred said, his careful words halting her own. “We’ve known for a long time that Da hated the orcs. He hated them so much he couldn’t think straight about them. I’ve felt that way too before, but if I learned anything from Mother, it’s that sometimes you need to be angry in a cold way, rather than a hot way, the way Da always was. Things change over time. I wouldn’t hesitate to attack orcs that  _were_  hostile, and I doubt I’d ask myself too many questions as to the why--”  
  
Jaina opened her mouth to object, and he raised a hand, placating, and she waited for him to continue.  
  
“But, if you’re certain that Thrall and this new Horde are different than the old one that killed Derek and so many others… I need to be different too. Not so angry, more willing to listen, watch… and trade.”  
  
All at once, a great weight lifted from Jaina’s chest, and she took in a breath of pure relief.  _If I’m not careful, I’ll float away._  “He  _is_  different, Tandred, I promise you. He’s seen the worst that humanity has to offer his people and also the best. He’s been through so much… he’s been a slave, a gladiator, a shaman, and a Warchief. He’s gentle and compassionate. He always seeks the path of least conflict, but once he’s there, he commits to it with a whole heart, and  _fairly_. He personally liberated his people from the Internment Camps, including traveling all the way across Lordaeron to rescue an old friend of his father’s from execution. He was chosen by the same oracle I was to save Azeroth, and without his hard work, and that of the Horde, I don’t know what we would have done. With  _all_  of that he also pledges his aid to those in need, like the Darkspear and the tauren. There is a place in Orgrimmar, in Durotar, for everyone who wants to be there. He--”  
  
“Ease up on the sail, little Sunfish,” Tandred said, and she scowled at him. He chuckled at her expression, and then, “you really do sound like you’re in love with him.”  
  
_And now we come to it,_  Jaina thought, and sighed. “I do love him, though it wasn’t my motivation then, as I’ve said. We don’t speak of love, our relationship is strictly casual. There is no question that political issues will arise from our relationship if it were to become public knowledge. At the moment it’s… nothing more than dirty, nasty gossip to be spoken of in back halls. It won’t ever be more.”  
  
“Are you truly going to be happy with that forever?” Tandred asked, and Jaina swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.  
  
“I have to be, because of what the future holds,” Jaina said, keeping her voice firm, though Tandred raised an eyebrow at her. “He’s looking for a mate -- a wife -- that will love him for his strengths and stay with him through his weakness. This is a… diversion.”  
  
“If you insist,” Tandred murmured.  
  
She ignored his doubt, and cast about for a better, safer subject. “How have things been here?”  
  
“As I mentioned before, we’ve fallen on hard times… but a new trading partner, or even two, will help us. People will return, and I can’t imagine your orcs are much good at fishing.” Jaina made a face at him, and he smiled. “There’s more I can trust you to hear now, too. Kelnar died in the attack on Dalaran, but Finn’s alive.”  
  
Jaina’s eyes lit up. “I’m sorry about Kelnar, she was always good to me, even if she wasn’t my mother. Where is Finn now, is she here?”  
  
“No, she’s not. She’s working with the others who survived the attack, mostly non-mages on the fringes of the city, making sure they don’t become separated and keeping them fed and sheltered. She’s actually working with one of the mages who didn’t live in the city, and he has an elven wife.”  
  
Jaina frowned slightly in recognition. “Would that mage be Rhonin?”  
  
“Yes, that name sounds familiar.”  
  
“I should have known he would be too grumpy and unpersonable to be killed by demons,” Jaina replied, and smiled warmly. “I wonder if this means Archmage Goldenmist survived too. He and Krasus were inseparable.”  
  
“I don’t recognize that specific name, who is he?”  
  
“A dragon, probably,” Jaina replied, and Tandred stared at her. “Tell me more about what happened here.”  
  
“I’m sure you know the… basics of what happened in Lordaeron,” her brother said slowly. “Terenas was murdered, and Uther was killed while most of the paladins and trainees managed to escape. Calia was rescued and evacuated somewhere safe, where her brother couldn’t touch her and she couldn’t be infected by the Scourge plague.”  
  
_You don’t fool me,_  Jaina thought sourly. “She’s here, isn’t she?”  
  
“She is, yes,” Tandred replied. “Jaina…”  
  
“Is she angry with me?” she blurted out. “I was the last person with him, and I couldn’t  _stop_  him. No more than I could stop Da.”  
  
“No, I don’t believe she is,” Tandred said, and she felt the rest of the weight of doubt and guilt lift. “She’d told me before that while she and Sir Uther hoped you’d be a stabilizing influence for Arthas, it wasn’t your responsibility to be his keeper. She’s been sad and frustrated and angry and guilty, but that’s only natural, considering what happened. She never blamed you.”  
  
Jaina nodded. “She’d feel plenty responsible herself, considering she all but raised Arthas, since her mother was so ill.”  
  
“She did raise him, but Queen Livia wasn’t simply sick. Calia’s said she was mad.” Jaina blinked, shocked, and listened as Tandred continued. “She was largely indifferent to Calia, but outright hostile to Arthas. The Queen even attacked Arthas when he was a very young child, and was locked away until she could be sent elsewhere, away from him to spare them the humiliation.”  
  
“That’s… horrifying, though…” Jaina paused. “Arthas had a scar on his chest, and it was old by the time we were together. He never wanted to talk about it. Right above his heart. Do you know why she would have done such a thing, specifically? Mental illness doesn’t often correspond with such violence.”  
  
“Calia said that her mother claimed Arthas was a monster.” Tandred examined his mug closely. “Sometimes, I lie abed and wonder if she might not have been mad, only clairvoyant. If somehow she knew this was coming.”  
  
“As someone who was called quite a few names, including monster, in childhood, I’d say she was wrong. Unless she had some kind of precognitive power, you can’t simply go around killing children just because they  _might_  turn to bad.” Jaina touched the base of her throat. She no longer had the pendant Arthas had given her for their engagement, but sometimes she still felt it, a weight and a memory. “And who’s to say that event didn’t push Arthas towards his current path, that he didn’t resent those who had tried to kill him and failed? Evil isn’t biological or inherited, and it’s not even always obvious in childhood.”  
  
Tandred was silent for a long moment, before finally offering, “That’s a good attitude to have.” Jaina raised an eyebrow at him, and after a moment he sighed. “Calia and I married in the Spring, after she came here. We’d wanted to before, until we’d broken things off because you were marrying the heir. We have a daughter.”  
  
_And that’s when Jonathan… no wonder he was all up in arms,_  Jaina thought. “Congratulations, that’s wonderful.”  
  
“Thank you,” Tandred said, and smiled back. “Calia was very worried that her mother’s madness would affect her ability to care for Rhi -- Rhiannon Jaina, after you -- and that she’d be indifferent or hostile… but she isn’t like that at all. They’re inseparable. Calia keeps her near whenever she’s working, usually in one of the offices. There’s plenty of room for a cradle, Mother knows. Rhi swims, too, like a fish. My little Starfish.”  
  
Jaina smiled warmly. “I’d like very much to meet my niece before I leave, if that’s alright with both of you?”  
  
“I’d like that too, she’s… well, she’s got none of the Menethil or Greymane blonde, and my eyes, but Calia’s little button nose, and I think Granddam’s chin -- speaking of which, she wants to see you.”  
  
“She isn’t… furious with me, the way Mother was?” Jaina asked, blinking. Tandred chuckled.  
  
“She was, certainly, but they’ve been listening in this whole time, and if they went to sleep during that long tale of yours, I’ll set them to rights.” Tandred squeezes her ankle lightly. “We can be a family again.”  
  
_Family,_  Jaina thought, and savoured it. “I’d be very, very happy to be a family again.”  
  
“I love you, Sunfish, for all you’re a ridiculous little brat at times.”  
  
“I love you too, you utterly maddening, amateur poet!” Jaina nudged at his leg with her foot, and laughed. After a moment, Tandred laughed too, and it was the most delightful sound Jaina had heard in what felt like years.


	9. Epilogue: Late Winter, Year 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I've appreciated all of your comments and interest and please look forward to Legacy, the sequel to Unity, Soon.

_It’s good to be home,_  Jaina thought with warmth as she appeared in her office. It was cooler here, though the snow had slowed to almost nothing, and soon without the influence of the Sea Witch and the Stone of the Tides, it would all melt away, avoiding more harm to the marsh.  _I just have a few more things to do, and then I can relax._  
  
She’d spent the evening, and then much of the next day with her family. Rhiannon -- little Rhi -- had been as much of a delight as promised. Calia, her new sister in law, in a different permutation than had been planned, had been pale, drawn, but ultimately agreed with Jaina’s assessment of events.  
  
 _She seemed interested in Thrall, though… perhaps she wants to offer official apology for what happened in the Camps?_  Jaina mused as she walked, knocking lightly on office doors, and was met with warm greetings and questions.  _I’ll let her make that judgement, she’s Queen after all, albeit of a fallen country._  
  
“Jaina!” Tervosh called, and gestured her into his office. It was cramped, and organized into boxes, as though he had only just moved in, instead of having used it for nearly a year. “You’re back, how did it go?”  
  
“I defeated the Sea Witch,” Jaina replied, producing the Stone of the Tides from her sleeve. “Tandred helped, a bit. He’s a good distraction.”  
  
“Dare I hope that means the Alliance won’t be breathing down our necks any time soon?” he asked, and Jaina smiled.  
  
“I can’t promise Varian won’t, but I’ve explained things to them, and I found out why they didn’t want to talk to  _me_.” At his raised eyebrow, Jaina added, “Jonathan.”  
  
“Good riddance,” Tervosh said feelingly. “So, you’re back for good?”  
  
“I have something I want to check, and then I’ll be set to rest for a time,” Jaina promised. “How’s Theramore?”  
  
“No permanent damage, the wards dealt with much of the snow until it started to rain,” he replied. “You can take control of them when you like.”  
  
“I believe I will, thank you.” Jaina tugged back the sleeve covering her left arm, and touched over each of the beads, murmuring softly. One by one, they brightened from dark blue to bright, brilliant purple. She felt a heavy, familiar weight settle onto her shoulders, and sighed happily.  _It’s not at all like guilt… it’s responsibility, and it’s_  mine.  
  
“Don’t forget to get your rest,” Tervosh warned. “And eat, Cynthia’s been all at sixes and sevens without someone to feed kippers to.”  
  
“I’ll rest, and I’ll eat,” Jaina said. “You worry too much.”  
  
“We worry about you,” Tervosh said, but smiled. “Go on, do what you must.”  
  
“Thank you,” Jaina said, bowed mockingly, and departed his office. It took time to leave her tower, as every person she met with wanted to know if all had gone well.  _It feels good to be worried about, even if it can be a trifle constricting,_  she thought.  _It means people don’t merely tolerate me… they care. It makes everything worthwhile._  
  
The snow had slowed to sleet, and then to mist, by the time she departed her tower, and even with the hint of chill in the air, Jaina felt warmer and happier than she had in months. With a moment’s concentration, she could see her wards, arcing above her, detecting hostile magic and keeping track of all that approached the island.  
  
No force would ever use her island as a staging ground. No army would ever invade it, no fleet would ever bombard it. Not while she drew breath.  _Now all that remains are internal threats. I won’t borrow trouble. I’ll deal with them as they come._  
  
There were two primary gravesites in Theramore. The first, and more prominent, was the open air graveyard on the far side of the bridge that had been constructed to reach Theramore from the Marsh, and open to all. The bodies there were cremated, and space carefully husbanded to avoid too much expansion, but the gates to it bore the inscription, “You will be Missed”. Every death, every casualty of war or victim or expired individual would be missed. There was a second gravesite, this one strictly private, locked behind iron gates, and only two individuals bore the means to open them: the caretaker of the dead, and Jaina herself.  
  
As she approached the gates, she looked up at the inscription she had chosen. “Peace has its Price.” She had wished, with all her heart, she would never add more to this gravesite. Reaching out, she touched the lock with one finger, and it unlocked. Jaina pushed the gate open, and closed it behind her.  
  
This was the final resting place for Jaina’s enemies, and it was a tomb. There was no need to light a torch before opening the door that guarded its entrance: it was a simple matter to summon light, white-purple and heatless, to illuminate the darkness. The steps were narrow and stone, and they took her down. The walls were made of bricks, though instead of proper, red-clay bricks or even cut stone, they were made of thin metal, carefully reinforced and braced, and fortunately, most of them were empty.  
  
Most, but by no means all.  
  
Each filled brick held the cremated remains of one of Jaina’s enemies. Most had fallen during her father’s invasion, though some, like Paval Reethe, had died later. Jaina traced her free hand along the inscriptions set into the side of each brick, reading the names, and paused.  
  
[Jonathan Taylor, executed for treason, HSY26]  
  
“You failed,” Jaina said softly. “You tried to destroy my peace, and you failed. You tried to destroy my relationship with my family, and you failed. You tried to make me miserable, to ruin everything I’d ever accomplished, and you  _failed_.” She let venom fill her voice, vindictive despite herself. “I’m alive, and you’re still dead. I’m in love with a good man, and even if we can never be together, it will still be better than anything you ever offered me.”  
  
There was no answer, and there never would be. “You weren’t the last of the traitors. Your legacy persists, but as every month passes, there are fewer dissenters. Varian is always angry, but we can keep him at bay simply by being too inconvenient to interfere with. Orgrimmar and Durotar thrive. I live out in the sun, and you will stay here forever in the dark.”  
  
Jaina flicked a finger at the brick, turned on the stairs, and ascended to the surface once more. She locked door and gate behind her, and with them secured, she smiled. She teleported the short distance from the gravesite to her room in her tower.  
  
Jaina glanced around, smiling. Her room had been cleaned, her robes neatly hung up and folded. Jaina tugged her poncho off, and hung it up, her boots coming off a moment afterwards. She divested herself of the rest of her clothing, and slipped into a robe.  
  
She pressed a rune on the wall. “Cynthia? Could you send up some tea, please?”  
  
 _The kettle’s hot, Lady Proudmoore, it’ll be on your nightstand in a moment,_  came the reply, and Jaina smiled warmly.  
  
 _Tea, and now bed,_  Jaina thought with a smile, and then…  _Entertainment._  
  
Jaina pulled back the covers and climbed into bed, tugging the blankets back into place, and glanced over at the nightstand, the sensation of magic tingling across her senses as her cup of tea, brewed to her exact taste, appeared. She reached for it and took a sip, sighing contentedly. She balanced the cup against her knee, and retrieved the communication rune from the side table.  
  
“Thrall,” she said softly into the activated rune. “I’m home, did you have some time to talk?”  
  
[End]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return to [Unity: Chapter 12](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1290898/chapters/2820160).


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